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#1 Oxford, 1870

Another crumpled sheet of fine hot-pressed paper hit the wall just as his scout entered. “Mr William. Sir? May I set your room to rights now?”

William sighed. Why did the words always elude him? “Yes, Harris, you may. I shall be going out shortly. I am not entirely sure of the protocol here as yet. Is it in order to bring a friend back for afternoon tea?”

His scout nodded wearily. “As I believe I explained to you previously, sir, it is quite in order.”

William blushed. It was so difficult to accustom oneself to the assiduity of the college servants. Aha! Now there was an interesting word. He pulled a fresh sheet towards him, but paused, his pen in mid-air. Was there any possible rhyme? He sighed again.

The scout discreetly withdrew towards the bedroom, and William forgot him almost instantly. Where to find a rhyme? Where to find a theme, for that matter? University was quite overwhelming, but hardly a poetic experience. Life was quite simply too mundane for the sensitive soul of a poet.

Outside the window sunset bathed the ancient spires and domes of Oxford in liquid gold.

#2. Cambridge, 1927

The day-long drizzle had made the cobbles of the market-place slick, but George and his friends hardly noticed. After a summer of parental restraint and Good Behaviour, the first day back was enough reason for a spree. Rumour had it there were one or two interesting establishments newly opened, of just the variety the college authorities discouraged. What further incentive was needed? George had just about had enough of his parents and their respectable attitudes. They were so damnably Victorian. He knew, if they didn’t, that this was a time of change.

Jack knew all about it. Jack had been to America, had heard Jazz in a genuine speakeasy. He’d lived on the wild side. Jack held parties in his set that went on all night. George and Henry were, if the truth be told, just middle-class boys trying to escape suburban respectability, but Jack had actually achieved it.

A narrow column of light spilled from a battered doorway between two respectable shops. Just what they were looking for. Jack whooped with glee and cheerfully shoved Henry towards the door, ramming it open in the process.

Behind it stood a slim, pale woman with dark hair cropped into the bob that all the bright young things were wearing this year. She wore red satin overlaid with black lace, which fell in points partway down her shapely calves. Next to her a woman reached to hold the door ajar.

“Looking for someone, boys?” The liquid honey of her voice had a slight edge and her accent was American. It made her exciting, alluring, but a little dangerous. Exactly what was needed at this time of night.

“Jus’ looking for fun, thassall. “ Henry tried to pull back, but his arm was held by delicate fingers. He looked blearily into the face of the darker woman and struggled uselessly to pull back. George sneered. Henry could be so feeble.

“Look at all the little birdies. They are so clever and they want to learn so much. Can they come in to play?” his captor crooned.

Her friend glanced at her, a slight touch of exasperation crossing her face. “You really don’t need more toys just now, Dru,” she said.

The eyes glinted and a pout began to form. “But look at their lovely stripy scarves. My Spike would so much like to see them.”

“Excuse me, madam. If we’re not welcome, we most certainly would not wish to intrude.” The impressive formality of George’s speech, almost without a slur in the voice, was rather undermined by the difficulty his eyes were having in focussing.

The American woman winced in distaste, but then seemed to make up her mind. “No, no, do come in. You must need to freshen up a little. My friends and I are just about to eat. You’re very welcome to join our meal.”

Hooting with joy, the students followed the attractive women up the stairs and tumbled into a warm room decorated in swags of deep red velvet and gilt trim. It was rather old-fashioned for two such modern-looking ladies, but comfortable, and full of the upholstered couches student legend determined such houses contained.

One guest had preceded them. A slim, wiry man with curly brown hair sprawled on a sofa, hands in his pockets. A sulky expression changed to a grin as he saw the new arrivals, and he raised one scarred eyebrow. “Brought someone home for dinner, Darla? Well, well.”

His tone held an edge that was not quite soothing, and the students edged a little closer to each other. They stood in a pool of golden lamplight but the red hangings were in shade and seemed almost sinister.

“Come in, little pixies. Sit down.” The dark girl spoke provocatively as she drew her chosen student towards her with a single finger under his chin. “You have so many ideas inside that clever head of yours. I can’t wait to see them.”

Earnestly, George sat down beside her, eager to demonstrate what a man of the world he was. He had not realised that in Cambridge such establishments emphasised the intellectual as well as the, uh, physical. He could feel the rather embarrassing evidence of his excitement as he sought for an intelligent response.

“I’m sure such beautiful ladies cannot be interested in what I have to say,” he said in what he hoped sounded a self-deprecating enough tone.

“Why, yes indeed,” the American girl smiled. “I am sure there is a little time for conversation before we need eat. What do you think, Spike? How can we entertain our guests?”

“Yeah. You Cambridge men think you’re so sodding clever. Let’s see some evidence.”

Henry stretched his legs, smiling generously. “I really don’t feel we’ve come here for conversation. It would bore the ladies, I’m sure. Perhaps we could discuss something a little more popular, such as film or the radio?”

The male companion looked slightly too old to be a student, but his tone and arrogant air betokened an Oxonian, perhaps. ” What’s your opinion of German cinema, then? Seen Nosferatu?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I prefer to avoid such pointless fantasy. Ludicrous concepts like vampires are hardly suitable for a modern art-form such as the cinema. Fritz Lang’s work is so much more redolent of the current age.”

“Oh yeah. Seen Metrobollocks. But did you know about his little film about Death? Very instructive.”

George shifted uneasily once more. “Death is such an unpleasant subject to mention in front of the ladies, don’t you think?”

The dark beauty cooed. “Oh no, no, no. We like these dark things, don’t we my loves?” She looked at her companions, who both had broad smiles and oddly intent expressions in their eyes. “Is it time to eat yet, my Spike?”

George blinked as he took in his surroundings. There was no food to be seen, and his two friends seemed unaware of the fact. Each student now sat on a sofa next to one of their hosts, all of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely. Suddenly he was not feeling at all hungry.

He struggled to his feet. “Thank you, but I think I have to go – don’t want to be in trouble with the proctors this early in term y’know…”

The host moved to place himself between George and the door. “Now, now, “he said silkily, “that wouldn’t be very polite of you at all. My lady friends really want to have you for supper. I can’t have them disappointed.” He pushed George in the chest, making him stagger into the ruby curtains masking the wall. There was a soft sound and a heavy object slumped to the floor. Looking down, George could see a hand poking out from beneath the drape.

“I think it’s time to eat now, don’t you?” came the American voice, as if from a very long way away. There was an awful moment of clarity, and then no further thought at all.

#3. UC Sunnydale, 1998

After the hubbub of the day it was a relief to cross the campus in relative peace. Compared to her quiet Montana community college, Sunnydale seemed big and bustling. It was all very well to know in theory that it was one of the smallest campuses of the University of California. That didn’t make her feel less out of her depth. All the other juniors seemed impressively confident, men and women of the world. She was the only one in the place to have no friends and very little idea of how to make any.

She clutched her notebook and papers close to her chest as she strode across the open space, hoping that she was creating an impression of casual efficiency. Even she knew, however, that the effect was ruined totally and forever by another sort of impact – that of her bowed head colliding with a human body, cool in the evening breeze. Startled, she looked up into eyes of a blue normally only found in fairytales.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” That had to be quite possibly one of the lamest sentences ever. And this was one gorgeous man, just the sort she wanted to impress.

“No, my fault, luv,” in a delicious English accent. “Let me apologise properly. Why not come for a bite?”

Who could say no? Suppressing a shiver of excitement, Sunday nodded. A bite with this guy? Wildest thing a girl could dream of. Turning to his side, she began to stroll with him, towards an enticing dark alley. Now she could really begin to feel cool.

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