The city is different tonight, somehow.
Quiet.

Though to me, it seems different every night; always changing, shifting, and morphing along with the crowd it accommodates. It grows and shifts, lives, breathes, like an ever evolving organism, replacing the old with the new until the new becomes old in its turn. Only I remain the same within it, untouched by the passing of time.

I cannot help but notice the transformations taking place around me as I wonder aimlessly along these streets. I watch on as a handful of workers crawl around a facade of some aged building, trying to restore it to its former glory like a team of plastic surgeons reanimating the past. I wondered why they just don't tear it down like the one on Hertford Road to make room for a modern housing complex or a department store.  Last week, a small Cafe opened on Oxford Street and I already miss the bookstore that stood there; I knew the family that owned it for years.

Perhaps I have walked these streets for far too long, knowing them better now than the ridges in the palm of my own hand. I was here when the Big Ben was brought up from a shapeless pile of stone. I heard it count the hours for half a dozen generations, never faltering, never resting, like the city's beating heart. I watched through the centuries as the ladies' skirts grew shorter, the buildings rose taller, the carriages lost their horses, and the lamp lights lost their flames. I have seen the rise of the Industrial Revolution, the destruction of the Wars, and the misery of the Great Depression, and I lived it all. Maybe I should feel lucky, instead of clinging so tightly to the vestiges of the past with a dull sense of loss as the things I once knew disappear before my eyes, becoming fewer and fewer until time erases them all...
...and only I will remain.

The sound of footsteps ahead drew me from my thoughts. An older woman hurriedly shuffled across the empty street in front of me, cautiously throwing stray glances my way as though I cared for her existence.  I knew it wasn't me that frightened her. In fact, I doubt that she could see me half as well as I could see her through this blanket of darkness and slowly settling fog. What alarmed her was the idea of finding herself face to face with a stranger in such a setting - especially a stranger like me.

I would not complain.
I remember the days, not too long ago, when my unusual appearance alone would be enough to breed all kinds of superstitious prejudice. Now, anything goes. It is no longer acceptable to stare or ask questions, no matter how pale my skin may be, how dark my hair is, or how odd my mannerisms appear. I can safely say that my assets have lost their shock value for this age's unimpressionable population, so aside from an occasional sideways glance I have not been accosted with such things in quite some time.

The lady threw me one last look over her shoulder before turning the corner, probably to make sure I would not follow. Since I had not the least intention of doing so, I found myself alone on a deserted street once more. It is fascinating, the degree to which these creatures are conscious of their own fragile existence, or how aware they seem to be of the immediate presence of danger. A smile crept onto my lips at the thought, for I had lost that sense a long time ago to be replaced by a multitude of others, much sharper, better, and stronger.

I walked on in the opposite direction of the one the woman took. Under other circumstances, it would have been a lovely opportunity for easy prey, but I am not hunting tonight, so there is no use in needlessly alarming her. I may be what they call a vampire, but that does not mean I have lost respect for human sensitivities. After all, they were once my own. Besides, I have made my peace with what I am a long time ago, so offering them this small measure of courtesy is the least I can do to atone for it.

I turned a corner and came onto the main street where a late cab came splashing by, cutting the night with its yellow headlights. It made a slow stop a few blocks down to pick up a young couple in front of a closing bar. They both seemed quite inebriated, laughing loudly as they got into the back of the small black vehicle. I could almost smell the alcohol from where I stood. I have certainly spent my fair share of time in these establishments; sometimes for the drink, but otherwise for the company of its uncaring patrons, and, occasionally, for something more practical.

Tonight, however, my instincts led me elsewhere.

Across the street from where the cab picked up its passengers, a cozy little cafe shed an inviting glow onto the foggy sidewalk. I made my way towards it, and, to my surprise, the shop remained open despite the hour. A simple chime announced my arrival as I opened the door and stepped into the warm, dry interior, taking my surroundings in at a glance. A middle aged man lingered behind the counter, bent over yesterday's newspaper while absentmindedly scrubbing some empty mug. Five two-seater tables lined the wall and window, making up the entire dining area of this humble space. An old man, sipping on a warm cup of decaf, occupied one of them. He paid me no more attention than the bored employee.

The third guest, on the other hand, was an unlikely find in such a place at such an hour. A young woman of maybe one or two and twenty sat at a corner table over an opened book; a textbook by the looks of it. Her long hair, the color of golden hay, framed her lovely face and fell onto her shoulders in cascading waves. She wore a short, brown leather jacket, a white sweater, and a pair of black jeans. Her only accessory was a shoulder bag that leaned against the foot of her chair, barely concealing another book. She appeared foreign; an exchange student at London University, studying for an early test, perhaps? I am almost ashamed to admit how many lectures I have sat through within its walls, and would I have been a registered student, I could probably have a small collection of degrees to show for it by now: Literature, philosophy, history, arts, political science - what else is there to do when you have an eternity on your hands?

She raised her head and fixed me with a pair of intelligent eyes, each glowing in the soft light like a pool of liquid honey. A beautiful creature such as this could tempt any mortal man, but women’s charms have long lost their power over my senses, so I coldly held her gaze until her curiosity was satisfied.

“Good evening.” The man behind the counter finally addressed me with a greeting. “What might I get you?”
His voice was a coarse contrast to the quiet tune of the old radio and I fancied I knew the melody.
“A small coffee” I replied, digging into my pocket for some change. The drink itself never did much for me, but it was a meager price to pay for blending in. Having placed a few coins by the register, I picked up the tiny cup and took a seat by a window where reflections gave me a clear view of the studious lady. If I said her beauty did not affect me, I did not mean I could not appreciate it all the same when it was placed before me. If I learned anything in my excessively long life, it was to enjoy the little things while they lasted because they were always the first to disappear.

And so, I let my thoughts drift once more as I remained still, pressing the steaming mug to my lips  as the bitter brew bathed their surface. All the while, another pair of pale gray eyes stared at me intently from the shadows of the window – my own. I never knew where the idea that vampires have no reflection originated, or how it would even work, but there are times I wish it were true. There is something deeply unsettling about looking back into your own eyes when they have seen so much more than you ever intended them to. Every time I looked into mine, I saw the same young man that celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday some three hundred years ago looking back at me. The same angular features, thin lips and high cheek bones made up his face, the contours of which stray raven locks continuously challenged. Only, instead of sporting a white muslin shirt under a fancy waistcoat, or a three piece suit, as the later fashion dictated, he now wore an unfastened leather jacket over a gray sweater that zipped up at the neck, and a pair of dark blue jeans which appeared almost black in this lighting. I would like to think I looked quite decent for this time and age, or at least enough so to pass for a respectable gentleman I was once brought up to be. Call me old fashioned, but I never got into the craze that were sneakers, so instead, a pair of street shoes completed my simple outfit.

I am not sure how long I sat there watching the girl as she diligently leaned over the opened book, her lively eyes scanning the pages. Occasionally, she would raise a mug of herbal tea to her lips, mint and honey by the scent of it, and draw a shallow sip. She would let the warm liquid linger on her tongue, taking a moment to savor its rich flavor before swallowing, then return to her reading once again. I must say I felt a small measure of envy for these simple pleasures which the years have rendered dull to my taste, and despite my sharpened senses, it would now take something truly exquisite to arouse them.  

The passing of time is another element of human existence that long ceased to affect me, but I felt the coffee get cold in my hands, which was as good an indicator as any that an hour or two have gone by. A round clock on the wall confirmed my observations; it was now quarter to four in the morning and I noticed, to my mild disappointment, that the girl began collecting her belongings and getting ready to leave. I don't know what possessed me to follow her as she slipped out of the coffee shop and onto the quiet street, but I did. I suppose it could have frightened her to find a stranger tailing her through the deserted city had I not perfected my stalking skills down to an art. Aside from the obvious reasons for such an occupation, people-watching has become quite a hobby of mine as of late. It substituted the life I could not have with that of my subjects, but more importantly – it simply passed the time.

I followed her slender silhouette through the sleeping city, taking care to stay at a considerable distance behind, as not to alarm her. It was not difficult to accomplish, as my eyes were much better adapted to darkness than those of any human. Not to mention, I could still smell the mint in her breath and the gentle fragrance she wore. After a couple of minutes spent in such a fashion, it became apparent to me that my assumption about her was correct, for she was slowly making her way towards the campus.

The university stood silent in the shroud of the night, magnificent in its grandeur; a curious combination of classic and modern architecture. The campus stretched over an entire estate of more than a hundred buildings, situated among vast green terraces, charming little alleys and inner courtyards, and I knew every stone on every wall of its every structure as though I built it myself. Late September's changing weather had already began to make its mark on the surrounding nature, painting tree leaves and grass into autumn's golden hues. Despite the late hour, many windows still shed a yellow light, illuminating the imposing columns that supported them. A couple of tardy students shuffled by towards their dormitories and I couldn't help but wonder about all the people who have done the same over the last century.

I stopped in the shadow of a nearby monument, obscured from view by its shape and size, and watched as the girl cut across a small garden towards a residence door. I had no intention to follow her further as it was only idle curiosity that brought me this far in the first place. Instead, I decided to retrace my steps and wonder about the premises some more as I have done on many nights before; I would know where to find her should I ever want to.

There is something about these old places of knowledge that always appeals to me. Everything here seems to have a place and purpose, whether it is in search or preservation of the wisdom we have gained over the ages. The old campus welcomed me into the silent fortress of its weathered walls, its every stone calling to me with the memories of all it witnessed. I found comfort in that idea. It made me feel less alone.
Yet alone I was not.
Someone else was here, someone just like me.

That lurking feeling in the back of my mind, that ominous sixth sense many of us possess even in life as an ability to feel the presence of another overwhelmed me at that moment. Like any skill, it can be ignored or developed, and is rendered sharper by my particular condition. I could sense him before my eyes ever caught sight of his form, prowling silently among the shadows. He moved with graceful ease through a small park until his silhouette emerged beneath the streetlights of the same path I had strayed from. There could be no mistake about it; he was out on a hunt, and he was just as aware of me as I was of him.

He paused, as though to let me know his intentions were not hostile, yet the glint in his eyes and the smell of fresh blood on his lips, which slowly curled into a mocking grin, left me somewhat unsettled. Perhaps it was his way of letting me know I trespassed on what he considered his territory, even though the campus remained on neutral ground for over fifty years now. Could he be new in town? Or maybe newly turned? Either way, I had no desire for trouble, so I kindly made a curt bow to indicate that I did not wish to interfere. The gesture was promptly returned with what I fancied to be a hollow chuckle. Manners were clearly not among his stronger quality, but despite my curiosity regarding his business here, I left him to follow his own path as I pursued mine.  

Granted, this was not the strangest thing to have happened to me, yet something about the encounter seemed uncharacteristically odd. There are about two dozen vampires currently residing in London and its' environs, and I pride myself on knowing every one of them at least by sight. Having shared the city for several centuries certainly puts me on greeting basis with a few of them. Others prefer to be left alone, and I would never impose upon such desires, but I am confident I could at least recognize them on the streets if we ever ran into each other. After all, we don't change too much over the years.

This one, however, had something different about him. I could not see much of his features in the dim light, but I knew they did not look familiar. A sharp nose, angular chin and wide forehead composed a handsome face. His light locks were trimmed short in consistence with modern fashion, yet the longer bangs still threatened to obscure his piercing, icy-blue eyes. Clean shaved, pale skinned, and undeniably attractive, as most of our kind turned out to be, he could not have looked past his early twenties with all the arrogance and defiance of a young upstart. He was up to no good and I knew it, yet I decided to let him be in my apathetic principles. Most of the time, I was quite content to remain a bystander, an observer - no more and sometimes even less.  

I have to give him credit for picking such suitable hunting grounds. Students were always an easy prey, especially this generation. Spending such long hours out in the night, thoroughly intoxicated most of the time; they made it almost too easy. I hardly ever go after them anymore, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, I hoped he went about it in an intelligent fashion and did not leave behind a nasty blood trail of victims. There have been cases of a young vampire's craving run investigated as a spree killing, or the work of a more meticulous one being taken for serial murder. Many of us have quickly learned that run-ins with the authorities are never a good thing, so we developed ways to avoid them. For one, it is much easier to cover a trail when you leave no bodies, and since we do not necessarily need to kill the host to have a sip of their blood, going after several victims a night instead of one can satisfy our cravings without taking any lives. It is also often prudent to avoid leaving bite marks, using a sharp object or a weapon to make a cut instead. This way, if the victim is intoxicated enough, which is frankly not that hard to come buy in this day and age, they will have no clear recollection of how they got hurt, discounting any nonsense memories about vampires to a brawl at the bar or a bad fall. Besides, if they don't, who would ever believe them otherwise?  

It is while walking my own way and pondering the discretion of my newfound friend that I heard a terrifying scream. To my keen senses, the cry tore through the entire campus, bouncing off its towers and lingering in its arches. It carried fear and despair as its message, but a human ear would not hear more in it than a distant yell.  It was a terrified voice of a young female which sent me wondering who, among the fairer sex, would be so careless as to be out at such a late hour. The answer came rushing in as quickly as the thought itself, stopping me dead in my tracks. I knew just the person, and before I could start another meaningless argument with myself, I was running towards the source of the voice as fast as my legs would take me.

Being what I am, retracing my steps back where I last saw the girl from the coffee shop took only a couple of minutes. Living outside of the regular flow of time allows my kind to do a number of things which would appear surreal to a human observer, such as moving sporadically at a faster pace for example, but more on that later. At the moment, my only concerns were to find her before it was too late and figure out what to do once I get there.

The building into which she had disappeared loomed ahead with its vast Victorian facade. A somber arch opened up beneath its imposing tower like a beast's jaw, swallowing the light, and despite the pitch darkness that reigned within, I detected movement. My instincts had already prepared me for what I was about to find, even before the overpowering scent of fresh blood hit my nostrils. A low hiss rose from within, followed by a weak moan, both confirming my suspicion; he was here. I stepped into the shadows of the arch but before I knew how to react, the echo of retreating footsteps filled the hollow structure. For a moment, however brief it seemed, all went silent, and I could hear the labored breathing of his dying victim at my feet.

Blood.
Blood was all I could sense and smell. It saturated the air around me and ran freely from an open wound on her neck, staining the collar of her white sweater and bathing crimson her golden locks. The fading glow in her amber eyes foretold exactly what was to come as she desperately grasped at her slipping life, and I had a decision to make. This would not be the first time I stood over a bleeding victim, watching as the last embers of their life burnt out before my eyes; I never did a thing to help them. I don't know what was different this time.

Despite the intoxicating effect of her blood, I was not the man to finish another's meal. Besides, killing her seemed somehow wrong to my already unconventional morals. It wasn't so much that her life was valuable to me; rather, that a lovely creature such as this should not be so carelessly thrown away. I felt almost as guilty now as I did the day I picked a rose from my mother's garden which she tended to so carefully. My intentions were in no way distasteful, for it was meant as a gift to a young lady, but I felt as thought I robbed the garden of its most precious flower for my selfish reasons. As I stood over the girl's dying body, it seemed to me as though I was once again holding a rare flower in my hand, plucked from its stem in full bloom for a greedy purpose.

Sounds of a nearby commotion interrupted my thoughts. Three voices were shouting into the night, quickly approaching my location. Someone must have heard the scream and alerted campus authorities or worse yet – the city police. In my estimate, I had but a couple of minutes until they arrived here, so, hesitating no longer, I knelt down and scooped the limp body of the young female into my arms. Moments later, I would be off the University's property and moving swiftly through the sleeping city, cradling her unconscious form against my chest.