By the time I was reborn into the blood, it was 1599 and I was a man of fifty-eight years gone, and a doctor no less, having followed in my father's footsteps, albeit quite reluctantly.

In my youth, I was something of a passionate soul, you see, who sought solace and enjoyment in art and performance, and it was towards that theatrical world I naturally gravitated, much to my father's displeasure. I yearned greatly for words, for sweet song and strong emotion to fill my senses, but my father insisted that I learn medicine and heal people, not debase myself in false employment and so-called debauchery. He was not a cruel man, you understand, but I always knew that his opinion and his insistence I become a doctor was greatly influenced by his determination that I would not mix with fellows who, let's say, were slightly more encouraging of a more fluid lifestyle so common in the arts.

And so, a doctor I became and surprisingly did not regret it, despite any dreams that might have lingered on. I found a natural affinity for healing and caring for the sick, perhaps why I have returned to a life of such purpose now at Hexton House.

In addition to my profession, I sought other ways to obtain my father's approval – or maybe, attempt to divert his attention away from my affairs - and so I married a young lady called Millicent, the daughter of a long-term family friend.

Millicent was a quiet, shy girl but sharp as a button, mind you. She soon realised why my father was so keen for me to live the life he set out for me, but she had no desire to consummate our marriage any more than I did, and we lived together, more as friends and companions than husband and wife, for many years, despite both knowing full well it was a charade. A charade it may have been, but it kept both our fathers happy and mine died thinking I had shunned that side of me he detested so much.

By the time he passed, Millicent had already sadly said farewell to this world just five years before, and by then I was in my fifties. Far from feeling the release of the burden my father had placed upon me, I found myself instead, quite aggrieved at it all. Just when I was given the chance to live my life the way in which I had always dream, it seemed I was far too old to do so. I am sure that fifty-eight seems like nothing in these modern days, but back then, life expectancies were much reduced and reaching your fifties was considered quite old indeed.

Despite this, there was one thing my age did not prevent, and that was attending the theatre! It was as if I had rediscovered my love for it all over again.

When the Globe was built in 1599, I felt energised watching that structure slowly begin to take form, rising from the ground in Southwark and looking to me like some beautiful oasis in the desert and I could not wait to go there and be hydrated by the words. Ah, you have no notion of how breath-taking it was to witness some of the greatest works by the world's most remarkable playwright being performed in a place like The Globe! I truly feel sorry for all those who never had the great honour to be alive during those times. Just imagine! To actually see the actors moving about that stage, reciting those great lines, watched by the jostling, eager audiences – the groundlings all packed into the pit area, the more fortunate of us seated in the tiers. It was truly something!

As luck would have it, I had the pleasure of being acquainted well with the part-owner of The Glove, Cuthbert Burbage. I had known James Burbage – Cuthbert and Richard's father – fairly well but my journey into medicine had spirited me away from their world for some time and I did not re-acquaint myself with them until after my father's death. By that point James had also passed away. A chance meeting one day with Cuthbert, after a friend of his fell sick and by way of gratitude for helping his friend, he invited me to dine with him at his home the following week.

It was at dinner that evening, when I was introduced to a rather captivating fellow who went by the name of William Jonson, who introduced himself as a writer from the city of York.

I am not ashamed to say now that I was charmed all at once. William had a soft northern lilt to his voice and when he spoke, I felt a fire in my veins that I had not felt for many years. He possessed truly the most beautiful smile, one full of warmth and affection. Blonde hair that was so light it was almost verging on silver. He was dressed impeccably; clothes of the finest quality that it made me believe he must be a very successful writer to have lived so well and so I was mightily ashamed that I had never heard of him or any of his work. Thankfully, he seemed not to care, and we conversed for much of the evening, almost as if we were the only two in attendance. Ah, how we talked!

He was a well-travelled fellow, having spent some time over the border in Scotland and also in Ireland which surprised me as the green isle was a dangerous place for the English at that time. Queen Elizabeth had been excommunicated by the Pope and Catholic Ireland condemned the Protestant English as heretics. William, however, had nothing but tales of wonder and beauty from his travels there. He was also well knowledgeable about the great towns of the north, but it was his tales of his journeys to Europe that had me enthralled!

For a man such as myself, who had never stepped foot outside of London, it was as if he had transported me to another world; a dream I could only ever hope to see during my slumber. Here was a man with stories of the theatres in Paris, the great churches of Rome, the artistry of Venice and the grand mosques of Istanbul. In the back of my mind, I questioned how a writer hailing from York could be travelling to such far-flung and wondrous places, but I was fearful to ask him.

I liked him immensely, you see, and I did not want to give him reason not to like me. To question him seemed to state disbelief or suspicion and too seduced I was at that point to risk his rejection of me.

I was enthralled and he too, for some strange reason I could not possibly fathom, seemed quite taken with me. I had no tales of adventure and wonder to offer him. My life as a doctor had never been remotely riveting, unless of course you enjoyed depictions of sickness and death, but William's interest in my life was a pleasant surprise, even if I thought he asked merely out of politeness.

Eventually, we were drawn back into the other diners' conversation and discussion turned to the first performance of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, which was to be enacted the following week at the newly built Globe.

I had expressed my desire to be there, which Cuthbert said had to be an absolute necessity and can you imagine how exhilarated I was when William said that he would be honoured if I allowed him to accompany me to the performance?

We parted that evening, with his promise to be there still ringing in my ears and my heart beating faster than if I had just run the length and breadth of the city. When I reached home that night, I could barely contain my excitement and I dare not even set foot in my study, where I knew my father's portrait would be waiting for me, glaring at me with accusatory eyes, my un-natural desires all too plain to see.

The next week passed with agonising slowness until finally the day of the great performance arrived. I made my way through the jostling streets of Southwark, barely noticing the hustle and bustle of the crowds, never once turning up my nose at the stench of the city as I usually did, practically levitating over the slick, slippery cobbles until I reached The Globe.

The area immediately outside of the playhouse was thick with crowds, the air alive with exhilaration mixed with the smell of ale from the local taverns and the cloying sweat- soaked groundlings, all pushing and shoving for a place in the pit.

I could not see William near the entrance and so I made my way to one of the boxes in the second tier, where Cuthbert had held seats for us especially. William was not there waiting for me as I had hoped, but in my eagerness, I had departed from my home particularly early; so keen I was to meet with him again and of course, to see the performance.

Three o'clock came and went and the performance began and still William did not arrive.

As each minute ticked by, I desperately tried to remain focused on the stage but could not stop my eyes from scanning the crowds, searching for that smile and that silvery-blonde hair that had made my stomach flip to behold.

Had I found my way to the wrong box? Was I meant to be in the tier above and there he was now, waiting for me and thinking I had not come?

No, I knew that was not the case. I was in the right seat, the empty seat beside me causing my heart to ache and as each act ended, I felt my soul shrivelling bit by bit, with the knowledge that he was not coming.

Oh, to be witness to the first performance of Julius Caesar and yet not see it!

The action was a blur, the lines all melded into one and I felt desolate in such a crowded place. Evening drew in, daylight began to fade, and they lit the candles in the theatre so that we could see the final act. By that point, I had sunk into my seat, arms draped over the balcony and my heart I might as well have flung into the pit below, so that the groundlings could trample all over it, much good it was to me then.

Then suddenly as the last lines were recited, I felt as if someone were watching me.

A strange sensation to be sure, and I searched the theatre to see who was making my skin to prickle with such gusto.

On the far side of the playhouse, in the bottom tier, I spotted William.

His eyes were fixed upon me quite intently and he sported a strange look on his face that I could not fathom. He smiled but did not raise a hand in gesture.

I could not return that smile. I was furious and elated all at once! Had he been there the whole time? What was his reason for not joining me in the box?

I stood up suddenly and all at once he disappeared. Literally as fast as nothing I had ever seen, one second, he was there and next he was gone, and I swear I had barely blinked nor taken my eyes off of him.

The play by then, was over, and the crowd erupted with applause and shouts for more.

But I was not interested in seeing the players return to take their bows. I was already gone, pushing my way through the box towards the stairs which I descended as if I had wings. People had begun to swarm towards the exit, and I felt crushed in the melee, desperately trying to spot William in the throng. Outside, rooted to the spot, I frantically searched for his face in a sea of people. Time flickered by and bodies whipped past me until I accepted that he had gone, fading into the night air as if he had been nothing but a ghost.

I was lost. Mortified. Bereft.

What on God's good Earth had I done to deserve such treatment? The fact that he had been present burned me to the core. It would have been better if he had not come along at all, but to see him, standing there watching me with that smile playing on his lip, I felt like a laughing stock and more than that, I felt like an old fool.

Of course, why would someone as handsome and as fascinating as William Jonson ever be remotely interested in a tired old doctor such as me? I felt ashamed. Ashamed for daring to feel anything for a man I had met just once. Ashamed that I had dared to feel something other than the rot of my increasing years.

I took one last look at the wondrous Globe and walked away, dejected beyond belief.

Making my way towards the river, I moved farther away from the stench of the crowd and closer to the foul odour of the water. I paid little attention to anyone around me. I walked with nothing but the vague notion of many people walking past me, some heading back to towards the taverns and inns near the playhouse where the night would continue and some heading towards London Bridge as I too was. I had no desire to walk among them and discuss the entertainment as I would usually care to do after a performance. I just wanted to be on my own, so I took a diversion down a less travelled road.

Of course, as soon as I did so, I realised that it was no doubt folly to walk alone down such a quiet alley. The evening was now upon me, and I was all too aware of the dangers that such a route could present. The back streets of London, especially those down by the river, were not known for their safety and if you did not want to meet your fate at the hands of robbers and other unsavoury beings, then you would be advised to avoid them at all costs. How easy it would be for them to cut you down, take all your possessions and then dump your body unseen into the filthy depths of the Thames. A man could spend eternity down in those murky waters, his decomposing body nothing but fodder for the river beasts.

Maybe I had a death wish?

I think I really lost my mind for a moment, so deeply entrenched I was in my own shame and foolish desires, and it was not until I was halfway down the narrow, cobbled street did I realise just how foolish a man I was.

I was being watched. I felt it with every fibre of my being. Turning back, I could not see a soul lurking behind me, but I was certain that somewhere, deep in the shadows, lingered someone who meant me harm. My heart raced until I thought it might explode inside my rib cage. I was in danger! Abandoning all proprietary and in fear for my life, I decided to run for the other end of the alley which opened near to the entrance of the bridge. But of course, my years were advancing, and I had never been much of a sprinter, even in my youth and I struggled down the street, desperately listening for a pounding of footsteps behind me and hearing none; but no matter, I knew they were coming.

Just as I somehow managed to reach the end of the alley, a figure appeared in front of me, and it was then I realised how wrong I had been.

The danger had not been behind me, it had lain in wait for me the whole time and by then it was too late to turn back. I was captured!

'Montague! Whatever is the matter? Why do you run so?' a familiar voice with a soft northern lilt said, out of the shadows.

William! I clutched at his coat, feeling so relieved to find someone that I knew, but desperate I was to warn him of the danger that stalked me.

'Quickly!' I cried. 'We must leave this place! We are in grave danger!'

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, comforting and protective, drawing me closer to him.

'Come, come my friend, what on Earth has happened?' he said. 'Have you been attacked? Are you hurt?'

'No, but they are coming!' I urged gripping his coat tighter in painfully clenched fists. 'Please William, we must go!'

He smiled at me, with no hint of concern etched upon his handsome face and I thought then he must be quite mad not to be alarmed and turn on his heels in fright as I had.

'Who is coming?' he said, quite unperturbed. 'There is nobody here except for you and I.'

Turning to face the danger I was sure must be then right behind me, I looked to find a very empty alleyway, except of course for William and myself and I felt stunned and all at once quite sick.

There had been someone there! I had felt it with absolute certainty, and I was sure it had not been the workings of a very overactive imagination. Scanning the shadows for any signs of movement and seeing nothing but the dalliances of a few street rats, I could feel my cheeks burning despite the cool of the evening air. My soul sank knowing that William must have thought me mad.

With a heavy heart, I turned back to face him, and he was looking at me in the same way he had at the playhouse. His eyes were fixed upon mine so intently that my mouth dried in an instant. I wanted to clear my throat, so dry and arid it felt, but I was scared that I would end up choking in front of him; another indication of my cursed years. I let my hands drop from his front, but he did not let go of me.

'My apologies,' I croaked. 'You will have to excuse me; I am tired and feel not quite myself.'

'Are you sick, dear Montague?' he asked, softness in his tone. 'What ails you, my friend?'

I felt quite enthralled by those eyes, I must say, and it was as if all my anger from his earlier performance seeped from my skin and trickled towards the river, to mix there with those dark waters.

'No,' I replied grimly. 'Not sick at all, just perhaps taken leave of my senses for a moment. Forgive me, I am an old man, and it was foolish of me to come this way. I grew fearful in such a place and panicked. As I said, I am an old man and sometimes commit such acts of stupidity that I thought I had outgrown when I was but a child.'

I felt his gaze flicker across my face, and he inched slightly closer. If I had felt panicked before, I felt utterly flustered then! I wanted to flee, I wanted to slip free of his grip and run; even though I knew my tired limbs would not carry me very far.

'Montague!' he said with a broad, warm smile. 'But you are not an old man! You contain a vibrancy that I do not see in men even half your age. The light inside you burns brighter than anyone I have met in a long time. Do not be so hard on yourself, please dear friend.'

I felt my shoulders sag in despair. I knew his words were nothing but falsehood. How could he possible see me as anything but a fool?

'I think maybe you mock me,' I said, feeling my dejection turn into the embers of a fire, ready to be re-ignited in anger. 'Otherwise, why would you have not joined me this afternoon like we had arranged? I waited for you. I waited alone only to find that you were in the theatre all along!'

'But of course, I was not!' he said, still smiling in a way that was starting to drive me half-mad. 'I am sorry if you think that, Montague but I'm afraid I was quite delayed. I arrived halfway through the end of the final act but could not gain entry to the second tier. I decided I would wait for you on the other side'

As I looked into his eyes, I just knew that what he said was a lie. I so wished that it wasn't, but I could just tell that it was nothing but a tall tale.

By then, I was done with his games! An ageing man I might have been, but I would not stand back any longer and let him make a fool of me!

'You lie!' I said, pulling myself out of his embrace.

He said nothing for a moment, just brushed at the front of his coat as if trying to remove the ruffles I had created in the fabric. Pulling tautly at the lapels, he looked down at his feet and when he looked back at me, his expression was quite solemn.

'Yes, yes I do,' he said. 'There really is no fooling you, Montague Kerr, but of course, I never once believed you would make this easy for me. It is simply what attracted me to you in the first place. In a room full of young bodies and wonderful minds, it was you that reeled me in. On your first words, I was already captivated.'

I gasped; stunned that not only was another man saying such words to me, words that I had longed to hear but never thought I ever would but astounded also that he claimed to feel exactly how I had felt when we had met each other. How could this be?

He reached out and rested a cool hand on my neck, the contact of skin against skin making me flinch.

'I don't understand,' I whispered.

'I could not arrive any earlier,' he said. 'I lied to you. I had to wait until dusk started to draw in, but when it did, I did not want to join you in the box. Watching you brings me great delight, Montague. I have watched you every night since we met at Cuthbert's home. I wanted to watch you this evening, a jewel amongst the dirt of the playhouse and think about how sweet it would be to make you mine. I stood there in the bottom tier, pondering on how much of your life has been wasted and how wonderful it would be for you to be like me; to make you like me. I think I knew that it was what I wanted as soon as I saw you and trust me, that rarely happens. I have only made one other in my lifetime, Montague and he died such a long time ago. I have walked this Earth for too many years, alone, despairing that I would ever find another and as if by fate, you came along.'

He lifted his other hand and brushed his fingers ever so lightly to my cheek before moving it down until his palm was flat against my chest.

'Is that desire or fear, dear friend?' he smiled, wider now and when he opened his mouth, I saw sharp teeth; pronounced incisors that you only ever saw in animals, certainly never in humans. I drew back quickly, stumbling until I felt my back hit the wall behind me

'Do not fear me, Montague,' he whispered. 'For I can give you everything you have ever wanted. You feel that, do you not?' He stepped forward, one hand over his own heart and the other palm outwards. 'All your life you have lived according to another's wishes. I know this. What must have that been like for you, my dear? To deny your very being? To be someone that you were not, all just to please your father? To be a good son? And you were that, Montague, really you were, because I do not think I could have done the same. I have never really been one to deny myself anything and now I stand here after so many, many years, knowing that my wanton desires never gave me anything but loneliness and yearning.'

'What are you?' I gasped.

He laughed then, soft and lyrical like birdsong carried on the summer's breeze.

'I am me, Montague. I am William Jonson and always have been William Jonson. I have never known any life other than this. I was born as the creature you see before you today and one day, maybe I will die the same. Do not fear me, please. I am still the same person that you met, the same person that you conversed with, dare I say the same person that you flirted with; the same person you ached to meet again tonight, and do not say that is not the case, because your heart betrays you, just as it did earlier. You wanted to be angry with me but the moment you saw me, your heart rang out across The Globe, loud and clear above the performance as if it were you on that stage; a lone player, bearing his soul for the whole audience to see. I know this, Montague, I know this! But whilst your heart and your mind pulsate with the most beautiful energy, your body ages, does it not? It fails you when you need it most. You would like to run, but you know you cannot. There are days when you feel it more, yes? The tiredness, the decay?'

I found myself nodding numbly in response, suddenly feeling that exhaustion more than I ever had in my whole wretched life. William stepped closer still.

'I can stop all that, you know. I can stop the rot; I can banish the decay. With one kiss, I can end it. I can make you like me, Montague. No more ageing skin. No more aching bones. Just wondrous life! You will run; you will jump; you will feel movement in your limbs that you have not felt in years. Nay, you will feel movement that you have never felt! You will be stronger than you have ever been. And more than that, you will be free! You will be free to live how you have always wanted to live. You can be you, Montague!'

Those fingers were on my skin again, tracing a faint line across my cheek and he was so close now, so very close. I stared into his eyes, feeling a multitude of emotions: fear, joy, lust, despair, love and hope.

Here was the danger lurking in the shadows; that much I knew for certain. Here he was, standing in front of me, and yes, I knew he was a monster; and yet for some inexplicable reason, I could feel hope in what he said. I believed him, every word. I knew it was the answer.

And so, I let him kiss me. His lips gently touched mine and his hand gripped the back of my neck and very quickly his head moved down, and I felt him kiss me again, this time on the throat, and this time with an open mouth and teeth that pierced my skin so sharply that my knees crumbled beneath me.

He brought me to the floor very slowly and continued until it was done. Then, tearing a hole in his own wrist, he poured his own blood into my mouth, and I drank. Goodness, how I drank!

As I lay there, with my blood spilling out onto the dirty cobbles and his blood trickling from my own mouth, darkness overtook me, and his final words whispered against my ear, carried me into the night:

'I was born free as Caesar; so were you:
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.'

***

As Montague's story ended, I remained still, my mind transfixed on his words, my head awash with his incredible tale. Montague smiled almost sadly, staring into space as if he could see the actors right there in front of him. Rubbing his palm over his beard, he tugged at the short silver hair, twisting it slightly as if his mind was deeply entrenched in memories not mulled over in a very long time.

Michael, on the other hand, stood abruptly, his eyes wide, a wildfire sparked within.

His sudden movement broke Montague from the hold of his memories and he looked at Michael with a keen interest, as if he understood completely.

But I didn't understand. It had been a fascinating story, that was true. Montague had been right. I could never comprehend what a privilege it must have been to experience the first ever performance of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar at the Globe of all places, to live in the same times as the man himself. But the Elder had promised that his story would help us, and what's more, that it would enable us to continue without the remaining in the clutches of Sébastien's threats, and yet I couldn't see what had made Michael suddenly so animated.

Montague's attention was fixed and unwavering. 'Ask what you must, Mr. Quinn,' he said. 'I will answer you.'

I looked from one to the other. 'Ask what? I don't know what's happening here?'

Montague never took his gaze from Michael as he spoke. "Mr. Quinn here wishes to ask me about my maker. He wishes to know about William Jonson, the vampire writer of York.'

'Michael?'

Finally, he wrenched his gaze from Montague's, his face alight with awe.

'Did you not hear his words, Sarah?' he said. 'I was born as what you see before you today. Don't you see? He was born a vampire. William Jonson was a trueborn fucking vampire!'

I gasped and stared at Montague. 'Is he still alive?'

'Yes.' The vampire nodded. 'He is still alive. Over eight hundred years have passed since he was born into this world but trust me; William Jonson is still very much alive and still walks this Earth just as he did when I first met him. And now, my new friends, you must find him, for if it is the truth you seek, then as the Guardian of the Augustine Codex, he is the only creature alive that can truly help you.'