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Welcome to the Caribbean, Luv
Chapter Three: The Witch
By spikeNdru, April 2004, revised January 2006 Chapter 1 2 4 5 6 7
Pre-Series, AU
The Fearsome Foursome have now split up. Darla and Angelus traveled to Jamaica, where they have set themselves up as Lord and Lady Burroughs-Hill, Drusilla has joined the Pirates of the Black Pearl and is now calling herself The Black Goddess, and Spike is furious with all of them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Three: The Witch
Spike ransacked the cabin, stuffing things randomly into a duffel bag and a small valise. He was in a towering rage and his fingers itched to beat Angelus to a bloody pulp. How could he be so cavalier about Drusilla? The bastard had made her! Had he no care for her welfare? The only time bloody Angelus shows any interest in Drusilla is when he thinks it will give him power over me!He was responsible for Drusilla, damn his eyes! Had he no loyalty at all? Was there no honor among thieves—or vampires? Bloody ponce was so impressed with his own importance, soddin’ ‘Scourge of Europe’ he was, yet when Darla says “Jump”, he asks “How high?”
Well, sod them! They can both rot in hell! Only care about themselves and their own pleasures. He didn’t need them and, by God, he’d show Drusilla she didn’t either. He’d find her on his own, and they could travel the world together, he and his ripe, wicked plum.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“He stole my purse! The whelp stole my purse! I’ll rip his head off!”“He’s actually gone after Drusilla? I didn’t think the boy had it in him. Angelus, do hush about your purse! It’s only money. We’ll replenish it tomorrow night. Where do you suppose he’s gone?”
“Damned if I care. Bloody fool won’t last a week without us watchin’ over him.”
“Why, Angelus, you surprise me! You sound actually . . . concerned about the boy.”
“Concerned about m' silver, more like. Takes money to set up in style and that little wyrm actually stole my purse, Darla!”
Darla sighed. “Angelus. Must you be so consistently cheap? You sound like a shopkeeper. It’s one of your less endearing qualities.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Lucinda Jane had set sail for Jamaica more than a week ago, and Spike was still in Barbados, no closer to locating Drusilla than he had been before parting company with Angelus and Darla. The only good thing about his current situation was that he had parted company with Angelus and Darla.He was wandering the streets of some town he had never heard of on some island he didn’t know the name of—how many bleedin’ islands were there in the bloody Caribbean, anyway?—when he heard a commotion up ahead. Sounded a right proper brawl, too.
Spike grinned. Just the thing he needed to take his mind off Dru and his situation—a nice spot of violence! He leapt into the melee, not much caring what side he was fighting on.
It was a wonderful rumble! Punching and kicking and “Hey! Watch the torch, mate! Y’almost set me on fire!” followed by more punching and fun until the arrival of many more torches put a damper on Spike’s bloodlust.
“Burn the witch!” the crowd was yelling.
“Wha’? Burn? What witch?”
“Burn her! Burn the witch!” the voices were chanting.
Spike frantically looked around to discover himself and a woman at the beginning of a pier jutting into the harbor, surrounded on three sides by a ring of torches, with everyone else from the fight on the other side of the torches. Spike looked at the woman out of the corner of his eye and caught his breath.
She was lovely. Tall—as tall as Angelus, at least—slim, she had a mass of auburn hair shading from mahogany through copper with streaks of bronze and gold, smooth, creamy café au lait skin and bright green eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Spike glanced over the side of the pier to the water twenty feet below, dashing itself against the rocks and sending up plumes of spray and then at the mob of townspeople and their scores of flaming torches and made his decision.
“C’mon, luv, we’ll have to jump for it!”
“I can’t swim.”
“What? Didn’t hear you. We haven’t much time . . . we’ve got to go now.”
“I said, I can’t swim!”
Spike looked over the edge again and roared with laughter. “That all, pet? Don’t worry about that . . .the fall’ll prob’ly kill you!”
Grabbing her wrist, Spike raced for the end of the pier, gathering her into his arms as he jumped. Plummeting straight down, Spike gasped as the water closed over his head and he took in a lungful of water. He felt a momentary panic at his inability to breathe, until memory surfaced. You stupid git! You’re a vampire. You don’t breathe!
Fighting his way to the surface, he dragged the woman to shore. Coughing the water from his own lungs, he turned her over his knees face down and pressed on her back. In moments, she was also coughing and choking. Shaking her hair out of her face, she sat up.
“What was that all about, pet?”
“They think I’m a witch.”
“Oh. Are you, then?”
“Yes.”
“Right, then. See that small boat over there?”
“It’s a sloop.”
“How d’ya know?”
“Because it has one mast and a jib. A ketch is about the same size, but a ketch is two-masted. Therefore, this is a sloop.”
“Know how to sail it, pet?”
“Yes.”
“Can we manage it, just the two of us?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Possibly. If you do what I tell you when I tell you to do it. Can you do that? Take orders from a woman?”
Spike sighed. “You don’t know the half of it, luv.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tacking out of the harbor kept Spike too busy to talk, but his thoughts were in a whirl.When they reached open sea, the woman turned to him and asked, “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Do I know where . . . well . . . yeah. I’m going to find the Black Pearl. Do I have a destination in mind? No. I have no idea where she is or how to find her.”
“Why do you seek the Black Pearl?”
“I’ve got to find Dru. She’s my destiny!”
“No, she is not. You will remain together for many years, but your eventual destiny is not with the dark-haired one we now seek.”
“Then who in bloody hell is my destiny?”
“She is small . . . blonde. She appears delicate but she is very strong . . . stronger than human. She. . .”
“No!” Spike flung himself away from her words, her ‘sight’, her presence.
“If there are any gods listening to one such as I, please, please don’t let it be my ‘destiny’ to eventually end up with Darla! I’d rather you just killed me now!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Two servants were attending Darla in preparation for the ball the governor was giving to welcome them to the island.Mmmm, she thought, I could get quite used to this lifestyle. Why haven’t we done this before? Rampaging killing sprees are exciting, of course, but often lead to hiding in barns and mineshafts, which are not quite as pleasant. I’ll just have to convince Angelus that a good kill requires subtlety . . . artistry . . .
“Tighter,” she ordered the maid lacing her stays.
“But, milady, if I make them any tighter, you won’t be able to eat a thing at the ball. You won’t hardly be able to breathe.”
“Don’t worry about that. I said, make them tighter.”
“Yes, milady.”
Marie pulled on the laces with all her strength, while Darla braced herself against the bedpost; eventually she achieved the fashionable, but nearly impossible, ideal of an eighteen inch waist. Marie was in awe of her new mistress. She had never known anyone to be able to go below twenty inches.
Marie knotted the laces, and lifted the ball gown over Darla’s head. Her dexterous fingers fastened the seventy-two tiny hooks up the back of the dress, and then she stepped back as Darla turned around.
She caught her breath in wonder. It was a terrible shame that the mirror had gotten broken. Her ladyship should be able to see herself in this dress!
The watered silk of the gown shaded from blue to green with Darla’s every movement. It looked like the sea on a summer’s day. The skirt belled out from that impossibly tiny waist and the bodice barely covered Darla’s creamy breasts, forced upward and outward by the stays. The long sleeves were of transparent voile, the bolt dyed at the same time as the watered silk, and an overskirt of the voile triangulated out from the waist to float over the back and sides of the gown. Silver lace trimmed the neck and wrists, but there was no other decoration. There was none needed; the beauty and drama of the gown was in the material itself.
“Oh, milady! You look a vision!”
“Yes, I do, don’t I?” Darla was quite satisfied. She’d have to remind Angelus not to eat this one. A good lady’s maid was a very valuable commodity.
Carefully smoothing her skirts, she sat at the dressing table while the other maid began to pin up her hair.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“You haven’t told me your name,” Spike said, lounging in the stern while the mysterious woman gently guided the rudder.“No I haven’t,” she replied.
“Well . . . what is it?” Spike was becoming intrigued.
“You may call me Rowan.”
“That’s a tree.”
“Names have power. But I expect you’ve already learned that. What do you choose to call yourself?”
“That’s an odd way of puttin’ it.”
“But accurate, I think.”
“Alright. I ‘choose to call myself’ Spike.”
“Yes.”
“Right. I’m sailin’ the Caribbean in a stolen boat with a red-haired witch named after a tree. Can’t wait to see what happens next!”
“Next, we find a cove where we can lay up for the rest of the night and get some rest. We can continue our quest bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Uh, Rowan . . . There might be a small problem with that plan. I can’t travel in an open boat during the day. I don’t know quite how to put this, but I . . . you see, I’m . . .”
“A vampire. Yes, I know. I just wondered if you were honorable enough to tell me.”
“And you’re not afraid of me?”
“No.” Her fingers moved, leaving traces of cold, blue fire in the air that gradually faded away.
“Why not? I could drain you dry in an instant if I chose.”
“Try.”
“No! I’m not bloody stupid! I want to find Drusilla, I don’t have a clue how to sail this boat, I’m not about to eat you and be stuck out on the water when the sun comes up. That’d be ‘nose-cutting-face-spiting’ idiocy!”
Rowan smiled. “Go ahead and just try to attack me; you don’t have to follow through.”
“Right, then.” Spike shifted into game face and lunged at Rowan, only to be brought up short by the blue shimmer of an invisible wall and a blinding pain in his head. He fell on the deck, gasping. “What the bloody hell did you do to me, witch?”
“Removed the temptation. If we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together in the confines of a small boat, I thought it best if we both know you can’t hurt me. Now you won’t have to wonder if there will ever come a time when ‘bloody stupidity’ takes over and ‘cutting off your nose to spite your face’ doesn’t seem like such a bad option. This way, things are perfectly clear.”
How the bleedin' hell did I get myself into this situation? Spike wondered.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Governor’s Palace shone with splendor in readiness for the ball welcoming Lord and Lady Burroughs-Hill into island society. Torches on specially built stands lined the carriageway and the palace itself was ablaze with light. The fragrance of night-blooming flowers perfumed the air. A string quartet was playing softly in the vestibule and a larger number of musicians were ensconced in the ballroom, attempting to keep their instruments in tune in the moist Caribbean air. An enormous buffet enticed guests with every delicacy available on the islands.As the guests began to arrive, the festive atmosphere increased. Everyone who was anyone in Jamaican society was eagerly awaiting making the newcomers’ acquaintance.
“I’ve heard he’s Irish,” a stout matron commented disapprovingly from behind her lace fan.
Her grown daughter sighed. “Yes, Mother, he is. I’ve heard his mother, the late Lady Burroughs-Hill, was a direct descendant of the ancient Kings of Tara.”
The matron sniffed. “Oh, well, in that case, I suppose we must make some allowance.”
The party was in full swing when the newcomers arrived. Angelus presented his card to the waiting footman. The servant bowed, and carried his silver tray to the majordomo at the entrance to the ballroom.
“Lord and Lady Burroughs-Hill,” the majordomo announced in a stentorian voice.
All eyes immediately turned to the entrance; there were several audible gasps of admiration, and not a few of envy. Angelus looked very fine in a coat of broadcloth trimmed with velvet, but instead of the traditional formal black in vogue for such occasions, his was a deep midnight blue, the color of the tropical night sky. Darla outshone every woman there, her natural beauty enhanced by the deceptively simple lines of her gown; her only jewelry, pearl drops dangling from her ears.
The overdressed matron, dripping with jewels, sniffed. “Hrumph! She looks like a milkmaid!”
Her daughter stared in disbelief. “No, Mother, she looks exquisite.” She began to rapidly fan herself. “I believe I’d like a glass of punch, may I bring you one?” and without waiting for an answer, slipped away, glad to finally be out of the oppressive shadow of her mother.
Angelus’ eyes tracked her movements toward the buffet table and he took a half-step forward, only to be brought up short by Darla’s nails digging into his arm.
“Angelus!” she hissed. “Control yourself. We will not get far in Jamaican society if the very first ball we attend is marred by your eating the guests!”
“Ah, Darla,” he sighed. “Ye’re no fun anymore.”
She rapped him smartly on the knuckles with the metal edge of her fan. “Behave!” she ordered.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Cap’n Jack! Cap’n Jack!” Rob Powder knocked loudly on the captain’s door.Captain Jack staggered over and flung open the door. It had been a very long day and he had barely gotten to sleep when he was awakened by this infernal racket.
“What is it, man? I’ve opened the door, I’m standing here in plain view, could you please stop knocking?”
“Oh.” Rob’s hand fell to his side and Captain Jack gave a sigh of relief. He stood in the doorway looking at Rob. Rob stood in the passageway looking back at him. After about ten long seconds of silence, Captain Jack shrugged.
“I’m going to bed now, Rob. The next time you get the urge to play woodpecker, could you possibly do it either in the middle of the day, or somewhere else on my ship? Thank you very much.” Jack began to close the door.
“Wait, Cap’n! It’s about Will Brass.”
Captain Jack re-opened the door and again found Rob staring at him in silence. He’d be here all night if he didn’t help move things along.
“Yes, Rob, what about Will?”
“He wasn’t watching.”
“What wasn’t he watching, Rob? His step? His back? Where he was going? What?” Captain Jack gritted his teeth until the urge to hold Rob upside down and shake the information out of him passed.
“Anything.”
“Anything? He wasn’t watching anything? You woke me up to tell me Will Brass wasn’t watching anything? Oh, I know! Is this like the clue that solves the whole puzzle is that the dog didn’t bark?”
“I don’t think there were dogs, Cap’n. I didn’t hear no dogs and how would they get on the Pearl anyway?”
Captain Jack sighed. It was going to be a long night. “Come in, Rob. Sit down. Now, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
“I had me dinner as usual, Cap’n. Some kind o’ fish stew with all them fancy spices John Groat likes to add in.”
Captain Jack closed his eyes and nodded encouragingly.
“After dinner we played at dice for awhile an’ sang some songs an’ then I went to bed cause I had third watch tonight. Third watch is two till four.”
Captain Jack nodded again.
“First watch is ten till twelve, second watch is twelve till two, third watch—”
“Yes, yes, go on! You had third watch and . . .”
“An’ I went up on deck for my watch an’ Will Brass wasn’t watching. He had second watch. Second watch is from twelve till two an'—”
“Are you trying to tell me Will Brass is missing?”
“That’s what I been tellin’ ya, Cap’n.”
Captain Jack roused the men and a concentrated search took place. Will Brass was nowhere to be found. The crew finally came to the consensus that he must have fallen overboard.
Before returning to his cabin, Captain Jack stopped to check on his newest recruit. She was curled on her bunk, a satisfied smile on her face, murmuring in her sleep. “Such a luvly Willie . . . he tasted like cherries.”
Captain Jack gently closed her door. He’d wait till morning to tell her the lad was lost. What more could a man ask for, than some woman to mourn him when he was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Closer to sunrise than Spike would have liked, Rowan headed the sloop into a small, hidden cove, navigating the treacherous rocks that screened the entrance with the ease of long practice.“There’s a cave here where we can spend the day. We’ll be quite safe here.”
Dropping anchor, she climbed over the side, landing in waist-deep water. Spike hurriedly followed, keeping one eye on the steadily brightening horizon. Rowan slipped behind a rock wall that appeared to be part of the cliff face itself and disappeared. Spike squeezed through the narrow opening just as the sun cleared the horizon, beginning another beautiful Caribbean day.
Rowan’s fingers moved in intricate patterns and a small ball of light appeared, illuminating the cave. There was an altar in the corner and the smell of dried animal blood was strong to Spike.
“Do you have any silver?” she asked.
Spike hefted the leather drawstring bag he had appropriated from Angelus. “This do?”
It took some time to open the purse, as the knots in the drawstring had been soaked in seawater, dried and then soaked again a few minutes ago. Her long, slender fingers eventually teased out the knots and she opened the bad with a smile. “Now, if I could just be half as successful with my hair. . .”
Her long, tightly curled hair fanned out around her head like a nimbus. Spike thought it was beautiful—she looked like the Queen of Sheba.
Removing two coins from the hoard, she returned the purse to him. I suggest you wait till it dries to close it. Wait here,” she continued. “I’ll be back shortly.”
As she turned to leave the cave, the little ball of light began to follow her. With a wave of her fingers, it halted and began drifting back toward Spike. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. In point of fact, he would have preferred she take her light-pet with her!
Spike was drifting off to sleep when he heard the sounds of Rowan’s return, accompanied by raucous squawking noises. Rowan appeared in the cave carrying a netted bag containing two squawking chickens.
“Breakfast!” she announced. Removing the first chicken from the bag, she approached the altar and made a shallow cut with a silver curved knife, allowing a few drops of blood to spill on the altar before handing the bird to Spike.
Unstoppering a small bottle of rum, she poured the contents into a stone bowl carved into the altar. She then sat cross-legged across from Spike and reached for the now bloodless bird, which she calmly began to pluck.
When the bird was prepared to her satisfaction, she gathered some branches from a pile in the corner and placed them in a blackened pit, which had obviously been often used for the same purpose. Sketching symbols in the air, she pointed toward the pile of branches and flames shot from her fingertips, catching the wood on fire.
When she had a nice, even blaze going, she skewered the chicken and held it over the flames to roast for her own breakfast.
“What was that bit with the altar, pet?” Spike asked, watching her turn the spit as the delightful smell of roasting chicken filled the cave. He felt his mouth begin to water.
Angelus had been disgusted with his continuing fondness for human food. “We’re vampires, boy! We drink blood! Human food does nothing for us!” he'd said oftener than Spike cared to count.
Spike knew it was the blood that actually sustained him, but he just enjoyed a nice slice of rare roast beef or a plump partridge and a lovely syllabub for desert was . . .
He cut short his musings when he realized Rowan was speaking.
“This cave is dedicated to the practice of Voodoo. It’s one of many secret places throughout the islands.”
“Voo Doo?” Spike asked. “You mean like hocus pocus?”
“Not at all,” Rowan replied. “Voodoo is an established religion amongst my people. My mother is a Priestess, what we call a Voodoo Queen, on Jamaica.”
“That right, pet? Can all Voodoo believers do the things you do?”
That little trick with the flames from the fingers was very disconcerting, and he hoped that these islands were not populated by hundreds of people who could end his existence with a flick of the fingers!
“No, I’ve told you, I’m a witch.” Rowan tried to explain the difference to Spike. “I assume you are a Christian.”
“Well, brought up that way. Church of England, of course. Not sure what I am now that I’m a vampire.”
“In any event, you’re familiar with Christian theology? Voodoo practitioners are like the Christian believers, whose lives are made bearable by faith and prayer. Voodoo priests and Queens are like your Jesus and his apostles, who can actually do miracles—healings and the like—when your god is working through them. My mother is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and certain gifts run in my family, which I’ve inherited. My mother is a Voodoo Queen and also a witch. I respect the Voodoo gods and my mother, but I was educated in Paris and I chose a different path.”
Spike found this amazing woman more intriguing by the hour. He almost hoped they weren’t able to locate Dru right away so her could spend more time with Rowan, but he quashed that traitorous thought before it had time to take root! At least he thought he did.
~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time the second chicken had been killed and eaten, the sun was low in the sky, sinking toward the horizon. Spike savored the last of his chicken leg—the meat had been crispy on the outside, but moist and tender inside. He licked his fingers in satisfaction.Rowan looked at him, curiosity evident in her remarkable green eyes. “I wasn’t aware that vampires actually ate . . . food,” she commented.
“Don’t understand it, myself, luv,” Spike explained. “Always been a different kind of vampire. Drusilla sometimes thinks I’m too human. Bein’ a vampire’s sort of the best of both worlds for me. I enjoy th' strength, th' speed, the agility of bein’ a vampire, and I also enjoy doin’ all the human things I was too repressed an’ boring to really appreciate when I was alive.”
Rowan nodded and Spike felt she really did understand, perhaps better than he did himself.
“What’s next on the agenda, pet?”
“We need additional crew. What do you know about the Black Pearl?”
“It’s a pirate ship . . . that’s really all I know.”
“The Pearl was originally captained by Jack Sparrow, an honorable man. His First Mate led a mutiny, and a portion of the crew joined in and wrested the Pearl from Captain Jack. Some of the crew remained loyal, however. When Captain Jack reclaimed the Pearl, most of the original crew who had refused to go along with the mutineers returned and are once again sailing with Jack. There is one man I know of who is not currently sailing with the Pearl. Not by choice, but because he is a prisoner of the Spanish on Cuba. He knows Captain Jack, he knows the Pearl and her hiding places. If we were able to release Jeb Horner, he would be an invaluable asset in locating the Black Pearl. He’d get to rejoin his ship, you’d get a chance to reunite with Drusilla and I’d get an interesting adventure!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Black Pearl was en route to one of her regular hiding places on Turks and Caicos when the watch saw a ship bearing down on them. She had blood red sails and flew the Skull and Crossbones.Captain Jack peered through the spy glass, straining to see in the last remaining light of day. There was something odd about that flag, but he just couldn’t quite make it out.
“Does anyone see a name on that ship?”
Thom Jones leaned over the gunwale trying to make out the name. “A-U-R . . . can’t see the rest, Cap’n Jack. Might be the ‘Aurora’?”
The ship was coming up fast on the Pearl, in an attempt to ram her, but Captain Jack heeled to starboard, and the strange ship slid on by.
A crewman stood on the foredeck waving his arms and shouting “Parley”.
“Looks like they want to talk, Cap’n Jack,” Thom observed.
“What could they possibly want to talk about? And who are they? Does anyone recognize the ship?”
A chorus of “No, Cap’n,” and headshakes left Captain Jack puzzled.
“We’ll allow them to send an emissary, but look sharp, lads; we just got the Pearl back, and I don’t fancy losing her again!”
Three crew members from the strange ship launched a dingy and began rowing over to the Black Pearl. “We’re unarmed,” the leader called.
“You won’t object if we search you, anyway,” Captain Jack returned.
“Go right ahead,” the leader said with an evil grin.
The Pearl lowered a rope ladder and the three strangers climbed aboard. After a search, which ascertained that they were indeed unarmed, the leader approached Captain Jack, his two men flanking him.
“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl. What is the nature of your parley?”
The newcomer smiled . . . it was not a pleasant smile. Several of the Pearl crew felt shivers run down their spines.
“Well, it’s like this. We’re in need of some fresh blood on the Aurelius. You have plenty of crew, so we’re gonna help ourselves to some of yours,” the leader spoke with a confident swagger.
Drusilla had come on deck during the strange pirate’s speech and she began to laugh. “The Aurelius. That’s quite funny, you know.”
“Oh, you think it’s funny, wench? You’ll be laughing out of the other side o' your face when we’re finished with you. I come from the ancient line of Aurelius. That may not mean anything to you now, but it will. Oh, yes, it certainly will.”
All three pirates shifted into vamp face.
The leader continued, “I am the most powerful creature you will ever meet, little girl. I am a vampire, and not just any vampire. My name strikes fear into the hearts of all who cross my path. I am known as ‘The Scourge of Europe’. I am—Angelus!”
“No, you’re not! You’re a bad dog and you’re nothing like Angelus. You’ve never even met Angelus!” Drusilla glided up to the three vampires and clicked her tongue at the faux-Angelus, shaking her forefinger in his face. “And you’re a very bad liar.”
With a roar, he lunged for her. Drusilla gracefully stepped to the side, gripped his head in both hands and twisted. In seconds, he was dust, being swept out to sea by the warm evening breeze.
The two minions stared at her in terror and scrambled frantically to get away, tripping over their own feet and landing in a heap on the deck. Drusilla lifted one foot, high heel poised directly over the eye of one of the minions.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“N-n-nobody,” he stammered. “He-he-he said he was Angelus and that if we followed him he’d make us famous. We ate our crew and we were just tryin’ to get replacements. We wouldn’t have hurt you, lady, honest.”
Yanking him to his feet, Drusilla patted his face. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”
Turning to Captain Jack, she dropped a curtsy. “Oi had a luvly time on the Black Pearl, but Oi think Oi shall have to leave. Oi have my own ship, now. These naughty boys need a mistress to keep them in line. Oi’ll be the Black Goddess, Captain of the Aurelius!”
The other minion sneered, “What makes you think we’d follow you?”
Drusilla whirled, grabbing his arm and snapping it like a twig. He howled in pain. She clapped her hands in delight as she gazed at her new toy.
“Oi want to see my new ship! Come along, boys, or mummy will be very cross and eat your eyes for breakfast.”
The entire crew of the Black Pearl was speechless as they watched Drusilla being rowed to the Aurelius. She blew them a kiss as the Aurelius trimmed her sails and disappeared into the night.
John Groat tugged on Captain Jack’s sleeve. “How’d she do that, Cap’n? Little, bitty thing like her, rippin’ a man’s head off?”
Captain Jack tapped his forefinger on his chin and tried to look wise. “She had probably studied those new Chinese fighting techniques. Remember that Shaolin monk, John? The one who did all the . . .” He whirled his arms around, making chopping motions in demonstration.
John nodded sagely. “Think yer right, Cap’n. That must be it.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Darla smiled with satisfaction. The island lifestyle was perfect for her and Angelus. Ladies rose late and spent the mornings at home doing whatever it is that they did—planning parties, catching up on correspondence, discussing menus and household maintenance with their servants, visiting with their children, doing embroidery—all the “womanly” things they seemed to find necessary for their existence, in which Darla had absolutely no interest, whatsoever.They then rested during the heat of the day, and island life really began at twilight. Early evenings were spent calling on friends, having tea, or taking carriage rides in the balmy evening air. The dinner ‘hour’ generally encompassed the time between ten and midnight, and she and Angelus always received more invitations than they could possibly accept. There were frequent parties, including musical ‘evenings’, whist and often dancing, lasting until dawn. It was the perfect life for a vampire! And, of course, there were the masquerades on the waterfront. Darla enjoyed those nights most of all!
Darla opened a locked trunk she kept in an unobtrusive corner of her bedroom, draped with a brightly colored shawl for camouflage. She shook out a stained and badly mended red satin dress. Choosing the half-corset that hooked up the front, Darla fastened it over her chemise, then slipped the dress over her head.
She brushed out her hair and pinned it up haphazardly. She applied rice powder with a heavy hand to her face, neck and cleavage. With the addition of lip paint and cheap scent, she was ready.
She slipped out of the French doors to join Angelus in the garden. Grabbing her waist, he whirled her around, laughing.
“Ah, Darla, y’do make the perfect whore!”
“I do, don’t I?” she replied with a satisfied smirk. “Well, let’s be off, then.”
Keeping to the shadows, they made their way to the waterfront on foot. Darla hung back, watching Angelus play his part. Pretending a touch of drunkenness, Angelus swaggered down the street, bantering with the prostitutes plying their trade on the wharf. When he had selected two that satisfied him, he allowed them to lead him off, turning for a final wink at Darla.
Slipping into the spot vacated by Angelus’ prey, Darla smiled enticingly at the approaching sailor.
She absolutely adored masquerade nights!
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