Moss recycles countless vampire clichés. Her novel’s title could have been lifted from a 1970s Hammer Studios chiller. The book’s analogy between vampirism and corporate greed is as decrepit as Dracula; ditto the analogy between vampirism and vanity. Yet I suspect Moss is less concerned with subverting popular culture conventions than she is with paying a playful homage to vampire literature and cinema. The book’s humour is broad, and some of the characters are well written. Pandora is infinitely more likeable than Bella, the overly serious female protagonist of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. The wonderfully camp and decadent Bathory appears to be modelled on Delphine Seyrig’s portrayal of this historical figure in the cult film Daughters of Darkness (1971). I was disappointed that Bathory (like the fanged supermodel Athanasia) appears only briefly in this instalment.

Moss’s publishers describe The Blood Countess as ‘True Blood meets The Devil Wears Prada’. This description is accurate. The book is a lightweight and fitfully amusing blend of horror and haute couture.