Rome, 1959. Remember? The Via Veneto, la dolce vita. Coins in the fountain, trysts in cafes, midnight bacchanals, parties till dawn. We danced giddily to the music of the Dracula Cha Cha. Paparazzi were flashing bulbs everywhere, and the vampire press had gathered to cover the upcoming social event of at least several centuries: the October wedding of Vlad, Count Dracula, in Italian exile from Transylvania, to the Moldavian princess Asa Vajda. Rumor had it that the marriage marked the first step in the vampire king's campaign to restore his power and position as Lord of the Undead. Vampire star reporter Kate was there. She got detoured in her pursuit of a scoop on the royal couple not by coins but by corpses in the Fontana di Trevi. All over Rome, in fact, vampire elders were falling in the gory path of a flamboyant murderer known only as the Crimson Executioner. Undead British secret agent Bond, a vampire with a license to kill, was called in on the case, but ultimately the fates of all of us - the lovers, knaves, monsters, and revelers, as well as Count Dracula himself - were determined by the ancient-of-ancients Mater Lachrymarum: child, saint, harlot, crone, and Italy's own Mother of Tears.