It was a dark, windy night in Amsterdam. Dionne McGuire sat in a window in her apartment, staring down at the cobbled square below her. The strong wind pushed autumn leaves into little piles in doorways. The branches of the old trees creaked in the wind. Clouds raced across the moon, casting eerie shadows over the other buildings that made up this little corner of the city. Dionne sighed and turned back to her computer. As a web page designer to big companies, her workload could be overwhelming. Working from home as opposed to an office sometimes didn’t help. There were different distractions, which seemed to catch her attention a few hours before a deadline. Television, VCR, stereo and her cat, Mitzi, were a few of these problems. Dionne had come to Amsterdam about two years beforehand. Naive and innocent, she had packed up all her worldly belongings and followed her boyfriend. He had made her a million promises, called her beautiful and his ‘angel’ but now he was dancing with a different lover. He had left her the apartment so that she wouldn’t be homeless. Suddenly a gentle purring pulled her out of her thoughts. Pushing a lock of plum coloured hair out of her eyes, she looked up. Her cat was sitting on her keyboard, smiling at her. Dionne reached out a hand and gently stroked the cat’s head. Sliding down from the window, she picked the cat up and tucked her under her arm. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked, gently tickling the cat between her ears. The cat carried on purring, stretching out her claws. Dionne walked into the kitchen and placed Mitzi onto the work surface. The tabby cat stretched her front legs out, yawning as she did. Dionne smiled at her as she fetched the various dishes and foods. ‘You know, Mitzi,’ Dionne said, ‘I think you’re my only friend in this world.’ Mitzi stared at her before scratching an ear. ‘You better not have fleas.’ Dionne scooped the remaining cat food into a dish and carried it over to the cat. Mitzi danced around her feet, expectant, almost tripping her. ‘Stop it,’ Dionne scolded, ‘stop it or you won’t be getting any food.’ Crouching down, she place the dish on the floor. Mitzi ignored her and attacked the chunky pile of slime with a vengeance. Dionne curled her nose up at the smell. ‘This is gross. I can see why you always want my food.’ But Mitzi wasn’t listening anymore, her nose stuck in her food, happy. Dionne sighed and turned around.

In the corridor between the kitchen and the lounge, Dionne caught sight of herself in a mirror. Shoulder length hair dyed a deep plum, soft brown eyes which showed every emotion, a small, perfectly formed mouth. Lowering her head Dionne went back to her computer, ashamed at the sight of herself. A short, fat web site designer with no life to speak of. How anyone found her beautiful, she didn’t know. She loved the city but she knew she had to get out. For the sake of her sanity.

The screen-saver scrolled across the screen. Sitting behind it, Dionne tapped the keyboard and the images disappeared. But she wasn’t interested anymore. The rain outside was more interesting. It was relaxing. Dionne rested her head against the cool glass and watched the tiny rain drops trickle down the panes. She followed the drops until they made little puddles on the ledge outside. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. It moved round the edge of the square, following the path. Dionne soon got a good view of what ever it was. It was a person, a man she assumed. He was tall and dressed all in a black. A long, black frock coat brushed the back of his legs and he carried an ebony walking cane. Long, black hair swept down his shoulders and to his waist. Dionne couldn’t see his face because it was shadowed by a top hat and obscured by sunglasses. A few seconds later, he was gone as he turned a corner. Dionne moved away from the window, certain that he hadn’t seen her. Who was he? She was certain that she’d never seen him before and now she was intrigued.

The man moved swiftly through the back streets of the city. A shadow of the night, fleeting, running from the light of the moon and the stars, Orion was one of the city’s population of vampires. But Orion was superior, one of the elite, the head vampire. He had control over the rest of Amsterdam’s undead. He told them what to do, where to hide, who to feed from. But there were also things that he knew, information he rarely shared with the others for fear of frightening them. He knew the location of different slayers, the bars they frequented and the areas they worked. Because of them, he had set up a number of underground safe houses in the tunnels and sewers that lay beneath the city. The safe-houses were places where the vampires could hide from the slayers or, come daybreak, they could stay there until the sun set again. Orion turned down a narrow side alley. The tip of his cane clinked on the cobbles beneath his feet. As he walked deeper down the alley, carved hands protruded from the crumbling walls, flickering candles caught in their grip, lighting Orion’s way. The alleyway led him deeper and deeper, away from the red light district, away from the drunken tourists, away from the dangerous tourist traps which littered the city. His footsteps echoed on the flagstones, making him realise how alone he was in this teeming city of sin. Eventually, a doorway come in to sight, it’s dark, gaping mouth lit by two of hands. Slowly, casually, he turned into the low doorway.

On the other side of the doorway, Orion straightened up. He removed his hat and held it close to his body. There still wasn’t much clearing over his head. The corridor was narrow and dark like the back stage corridors in a theatre. Black candles stood in tiny alcoves, barely lighting the dark walls but casting enough light for Orion to see where he was going. Suddenly a figure turned off a side corridor and stepped straight into Orion. She looked up and, once she saw who it was, stood back in awe. ‘Oh, Orion, sir,’ she whispered, ‘please forgive me.’ The woman looked in her late twenties but she was probably over a hundred years old. She was dressed in the clothes of the Victorian period. A long black dress which trailed on the floor. A bustle held up a lot of the material while a tight corset made the woman’s waist seem slimmer than it was. Orion looked at her and smiled, bowing his head slightly. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered in a heavily accented voice. The woman carried on looking at him, not quite believing that it was him. ‘Are you going to be joining us for the entertainment tonight?’ she asked. Orion slowly shook his head, taking his time. ‘I doubt it greatly, sweet madam. I have other things that I must attend to.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said the woman, ‘I hope that you will be able to join us one night.' Orion bowed his head before carrying on down the corridor.

Eventually he came to a stage door. Quietly he opened it and stepped into the area beside the stage. Taking his hat off, he hung it up. He did the same with the frock coat. Underneath, he wore a long robe. It was made of the darkest midnight blue velvet. Silver embroidery snaked up and down the back of it. A mixture of leaves and snakes. It swept the floor around him. Resettling his hair around his shoulders, he stepped out onto the stage. Candles in open topped glass jars provided the foot lights, casting the first few rows of his audience into shadow. Chandeliers of candles hung from the ceiling, flickering, casting eerie shadows across the walls and the high ceiling. Looking up, Orion could see the paintings in the high, arched ceiling. Despite being almost three hundred years old, the head vampire could still find something new every time he looked. Turning his eyes back towards his audience, he took a breath and addressed them. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I have grave news. Last night another of our people was killed. Cruelly burnt to death by the slayers. They are being to close in on us. We need to multiply, need to make more of us. But please, be careful. Be careful about who you bring into our realm. The slayers are going to be trying to join us.’ The vampire bowed his head slightly. ‘Good evening.’ Slowly he turned and left, the robe rustling on the floorboards.

As he walked off the stage, someone handed him a delicately engraved marble goblet. Orion looked deeply into the liquid contained in the goblet, lost in his thoughts, before lifting it to his mouth. Slowly he sipped the blood, savouring it. Eventually, he finished it and handed the goblet back to the human servant that stood before him. The servant nodded and left. Orion picked up his frock coat and cane and began to leave.

As he walked through the corridors, he thought about what was happening. He knew that the slayers were after him. They wanted to stalk him and kill him in any way possible. He feared for his life and knew that he may have to go into hiding. But then something else swept across his mind. The girl who lived across from him, the one that he wanted to bring into his world, into the world of the vampire. She was going to be his companion, his contribution to their population. He had to seduce her in some way, get her to love him. But how? He asked himself. He was a vampire, one of the walking undead, heartless, soulless. How could anyone love him?

Eventually he emerged into the street. It had stopped raining. Somewhere in the distance, a clock began to strike the time. Once, twice, three times. Eventually, after the fifth chime, it faded into the night. Orion walked down the dark alley. In the distance, his sensitive hearing could pick up the sounds of the city’s population. He could smell their blood but he didn’t want it. Their blood was laced with alcohol, weakening it. The alcohol would make him ill and, while the slayers were after him, he needed to be fully aware of what was going on around him. He turned a corner and walked across one of the many bridges that arched across Amsterdam’s canals. His boots caused the ageing timbers to creak beneath him. Quickly he moved across the road and into the square. As he walked across the cobbles, he looked up into the girl’s apartment.

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