i) A Beginning, of Sorts

The front door just wasn't an option, he knew that – standing before him solid as the River Ankh in winter, 30ft of solid wood and brass and intricate gold panelling, it was just too there, too real. Even with all his modern notions, even with a fresh black ribbon attached to his coat, he just couldn't go through that door uninvited. Old habits, much like old vampires, die hard.

One step at a time, that's what they had said to him at the League of Temperance meeting. Baby steps.

That is why the Viscount de Magpyr found himself at the back door of the Opera House, a silken flash of turquoise in a sea of dusty browns and greys as he shuffled awkwardly through the bustle of stage hands, cleaners, set painters, cooks and a multitude of assorted labourers whose function was known only to themselves and, perhaps, the Opera House managers.

It really made more sense to use the back door anyway, Vlad reasoned. Witches always used the back door, so the chance of meeting her was increased exponentially (and with all these people around he was sure to be invited inside sooner or later). There was a small part of him that knew this was silly, that Agnes Nitt hadn't been seen at the Opera House in over a year, that it was a million-to-one chance – but million-to-one chances pop up nine times out of ten, he thought. He needed to see her again, to be near her again – she was the catalyst that brought about this great change within him, and now after leaving his old life behind, going B-total and coming to Ankh Morpork, he was a little lost. He knew if he could just see Agnes again everything would become clear.

It was only upon reaching the door that Vlad realised the crowd had dispersed - steadily trickling back to their homes after the last show of the night; leaving him with only empty crates, dustbins, and an alley cat or two for company. Finding the door locked from the inside, he silently cursed – now he couldn't even show how progressive he was, forgoing the old 'a vampire cannot enter where he is not invited' shtick. He rested his head against the cheap wood and sighed –

- Or at least got halfway through a sigh, before the door swung abruptly inward and he fell forward onto his face.

"Oh dear, this isn't the bathroom! Silly me, I've gotten lost again!" Vlad heard someone say above him. He let out a small groan as he tried (in vain) to pick himself back up.
"Goodness! Someone's left a man on the floor!" the voice exclaimed "Are you all right?" tiny hands helped prop Vlad up into a sitting position, and as his vision cleared he saw a girl in front of him.

"Perdita?"
It was an odd thing to say, he would admit, not least because Perdita didn't actually exist - not outside Agnes' head, at least. He had caught glimpses of her when trying to read Agnes' mind – a thin and waiflike girl with long, blonde, perfectly coiffed hair, an immaculate white flowing dress and a tongue as sharp and treacherous as a bag of razors. The girl smiling serenely in front of him, however, called to mind something insubstantial, fluffy and sweet like candyfloss or a chinchilla. No, this wasn't Perdita – this girl was missing the angularity, the severity, and the anger that was so apparent on first laying eyes on Perdita. That just a figment of Agnes' imagination could be so vivid, so alive – well, that spoke volumes about her. This girl, he supposed, was pretty in a kind of inconsequential way, like a piece of jewellery – something that would look pretty on your arm but didn't have much practical function.

"Oh, you're looking for Perdita? Big hair? Very… majestic?" the girl cocked her head to one side then the other, like a bird, as though she had to rattle her thoughts around to get them in order "I'm afraid she left some time ago…" she seemed momentarily downcast, then brightened "She probably went back to Klatch – she said her father was the Emperor there! And her mother was a tray of raspberry puddings!"

"…Sorry?" Vlad was having a hard time keeping up with the sudden barrage of breathless non-sequiturs.

"Well, I suspect it's a literal translation!" the girl nodded sagely (or at least in a way she probably presumed was sagely) "Most likely it means something like Queen in her native tongue – you know, like Sultana! All the royal titles seem to be foods there!"

Vlad could only blink mutely as he tried to process what had just been said – the words were all there: verbs, adjectives, nouns - all in the right place, and yet he couldn't make any sense of it. Though the League would likely frown on it, he decided to read her mind. Well, not read it – that would have been impolite – rather have a little skim through the blurb on the back cover, have a quick flick through. He only wanted to pick out a few of the thoughts dancing out around the frontal lobes – he was a gentleman after all. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptively as he focused, slowly listening for the right frequency and –

Nothing.

Not like Agnes, where one set of thoughts would bob down just as another set would surface. Not empty like a dead person's mind, either, but a strangely alive nothingness - like the electrically charged silence just before a thunderstorm. All he could hear was a constant, low hum and occasional crackle. It, admittedly, wasn't quite what he was expecting.

It was, in fact, rather unlike anything he'd ever encountered before.

And now, only now, he began to notice how she shimmered– how the air seemed to glitter around her. Maybe it was his inner magpie being drawn to bright, sparkly things but suddenly she was so fascinating.

She said something he couldn't quite hear until he snapped out of his trance.

"Hmmm?"

"I said, are you a friend of Perdita's? Or perhaps – a young suitor come to win her heart?" she squeaked excitedly.

"No, no – just an old friend seeing if she was in town." Vlad found himself saying for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. He jumped to his feet in one swift movement, bowed lightly and tried his most dazzling smile.

"Oh, how rude of me – I haven't introduced myself!" he reached out a hand, now in full charm mode (he had to go the extra mile after the falling-on-his-face incident). The girl in return offered hers daintily (thankfully, instead of trying to shake it – this kind of cooperation, Vlad thought to himself, really made his job a lot easier) and he gave it a gentle kiss. She giggled.

"I'm-"

"The Viscount De Magpyr – I know!" she clapped her hands together giddily, as though knowing something was a new experience and rather thrilling experience.

Vlad was momentarily crestfallen, after having his big moment pulled out from under his feet, but he prided himself on his ability to recover magnificently.

"I see my reputation precedes me," he said before the realisation that this mightn't be a good thing slowly dawned on him.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to interrupt but I was so excited! I grew up in Uberwald, you see! Everyone there knows your family – or, at least aboutyour family! They're famous!"

"Oh, well whatever you've heard I –"

"I like your waistcoat! I'm Christine!" she grinned, feigning shyness "Perhaps you've heard of me?"

Vlad hazarded a guess that this was the Christine whose name he kept seeing on the glossy magazine covers that seemed to be everywhere in Ankh-Morpork.

"The rising star of the new brand of Opera? Why, who hasn't heard of you?" He replied smootly. Christine beamed.

"Why don't you come inside, and I can show you around the Opera House!" she chirped, linking her arm with his.

"That sounds," he grinned his most charming grin "…perfect."