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Welcome to the Caribbean, Luv
Chapter Four: Loup Garou
By spikeNdru, April 2004, revised January 2006 Chapter 1 2 3 5 6 7
Pre-Series, AU
Darla and Angelus are in Jamaica, pretending to be Lord and Lady Burroughs-Hill; Drusilla has left the Black Pearl and decided to command her own ship, the Aurelius, and Spike is off having adventures with the witch Rowan as they are attempting to locate Drusilla. Due to being out of Angelus’ and Dru’s sphere of influence, and also due to the spell Rowan put on him, making him unable to hurt her, Spike is accommodating to his new circumstances, and learning things of which Angelus has no idea.
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Chapter Four: Loup Garou
The six vampires grumbled as *Angelus’* lieutenants returned with a single woman instead of the ‘dinner’ they had been expecting.Stepping on deck, Drusilla threw out her arms in ecstasy, and spun in circles in her excitement at the thought of commanding her very own pirate ship!
An ugly man with a scar bisecting his face stepped forward and demanded belligerently, “Where’s Angelus?”
With a tinkling laugh, Drusilla came to an abrupt halt in her spinning, directly in front of him. “He’s in Jamaica with grandmama, silly boy!”
One of the minions who had been on the Pearl, spoke up. “She says he wasn’t the real Angelus!”
Dru laughed delightedly. “Of course he wasn’t! Darla made Angelus, Angelus made me, and Oi made a Willie! But he is a naughty Willie! Oi hid, and he was to seek his Princess, but he never came. Oh, well.”
Looking directly at the scarred vampire, Dru continued, “Look at me, dearie, look into my eyes, be in me. Oi’m the Black Goddess. Oi’m Mistress and Commander of the Aurelius and you will follow my orders. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good!” Drusilla smiled brightly. Fluffing her skirts, she sat on the seating ledge jutting out from the gunwale. “Now, tell mummy what her bad boys have been up to!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The island appeared deserted. Lush foliage overran the majority of the small landmass, spilling over onto the small strip of rocky beach toward which Rowan was steering the sloop. Spike was crouched in the stern, completely covered by a piece of sailcloth. The late afternoon sun beat down on the heavy canvas, making Spike very uncomfortable. He enjoyed the warmth, but he could not quiet the demon inside, making him aware that vampires were not made to be out in the tropical sun with only what amounted to a pup-tent standing between him and extinction.Rowan had roused him four hours ago, informing him of the necessity of this day-time trip and rigging this shelter for him, which did seem to be working, even though it made him excruciatingly nervous. He wondered if the others knew about this. He didn’t think so.
Once he had gotten over his surprise that vampires didn’t have to sleep in coffins and didn’t go completely comatose during daylight hours, he couldn’t wait to test out the other myths.
So far, he had discovered that real vampires did not need to carry their native earth with them when they traveled and could cross running water. They could also enter churches—Darla was quite fond of the Sistine Chapel, but Dru preferred Notre Dame; he suspected it was because of the gargoyles—eat human food if they chose, and now, apparently, could go out in the sun, if completely covered. His skin felt hot, as if he had suffered a human sunburn, but he wasn’t in flames or dust!
Rowan brought the sloop in close to the rocky beach and Spike jumped, clutching the sailcloth close about him. He made a run for the cover of trees. Once in the safety of the shade, Spike frantically beat at the smoking portions of his anatomy, exposed during the dash for shelter.
“Where are we, what are we doing here, an’ why the bleedin’ hell did we have to come here in the middle of the day?” he demanded.
Rowan smiled serenely, ignoring his outrage. “We’re on one of the Caicos Islands. The natives call it ‘Loup-Garou’. As to why we are in this particular place at this particular time, I’m not sure. I only know we were meant to come. I felt a . . . drawing, a need to be here.”
“Well, that’s just ducky!” Spike sniped. “Draggin’ me out in the blazin’ sun and you don’t even have a good reason for it.”
“Oh, there is a reason; I just don’t know what it is yet.”
Wending their way deeper into the overgrowth, they came upon a spring bubbling out of the ground. Rowan cupped her hands and drank deeply. Spike wet his handkerchief and applied the cool water to his slightly singed parts. It felt very good.
Rowan decided to go back to the boat for their water bottles, which were in need of replenishing. Spike stretched out beside the spring, enjoying the chance to view the world in this diffuse green light. In what seemed like no time at all, she was back, and the leather bottles were filled with cool, sweet spring water.
“Wha’d’we do now?” Spike asked.
“We wait,” Rowan answered simply.
Spike reclined, hands behind his head, half-lidded eyes taking in every aspect of Rowan’s appearance. There were certainly worse ways he could think of to spend an afternoon!
Within a half-hour, though, Spike was getting restless. The sun was low in the sky and he was itching to be up and doing—something. As he sat up, he heard a thrashing in the underbrush, accompanied by ragged, panting breaths. Farther away, he heard the sounds of baying hounds. The scent of blood was strong.
He and Rowan were both on their feet as a slender, muscular, black man staggered into view, gasping for breath. His back was covered with lash marks and his left calf was bleeding profusely from what looked like an animal bite.
“Quick, Spike!” Rowan ordered.
They each took one of the man’s arms over their shoulders and half-dragged, half-carried him down to the beach. The sun had just set as they reached the open space, and Spike flung the man over his shoulders as they made a run for the sloop.
Rowan scrambled on board and reached out as Spike lifted the man up to her. Low tide had partially grounded the boat, so Spike heaved it back into the water and jumped for the deck. Rowan trimmed the sail and they were heading out to sea before their pursuers reached the beach.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Darla was reclining on a chaise lounge in her boudoir, reading a penny-dreadful just in from London when Marie tapped gently at the open door.“Yes, Marie? What is it?”
“It’s a young lady, your ladyship. Says she’s called the Honourable Miranda Higgenbottom, and wonders if she might have a word with you, milady.”
“Show her in here,” Darla ordered, slipping a silk wrap over her chemise. She couldn’t be bothered going to all the trouble of dressing and formally receiving Miss Higgenbottom when she couldn’t even remember who she was!
Within minutes, Marie had shown her in, and Darla recognized the attractive girl from the Governor’s ball who had caught Angelus’ attention. The one with the truly awful, common mother!
“Good afternoon, Miss Higgenbottom. How can I help you?”
Darla found directness a decided advantage in unwanted social encounters. Not for her, the interminably polite chit-chat, taking up to an hour to get to the point.
Miss Higgenbottom looked frazzled, but she inclined her head and spoke with quiet dignity. “Thank you for seeing me, Lady Burroughs-Hill. I’ve been all over the island, and I fear you are my last hope.”
With a sigh, Darla invited her guest to sit and instructed Marie to bring a pitcher of cold tea, flavored with island limes.
Gratefully taking a drink of the refreshing beverage, Miranda continued. “My younger sister appears to be missing. No one has seen her since she retired last night. Mother is beside herself. I’ve spoken with all our acquaintances and no one has seen her.” Miranda lowered her voice and leaned closer to Darla. “Mother would be distressed if she knew I had mentioned this, but Matilda’s friend, Catherine, had seen her in the company of a tall, broad-shouldered man several nights ago. Catherine didn’t get a good look at him, but my sister hasn’t any suitors that we’re aware of. She’s just fifteen and rather romantic and headstrong, and I’m so afraid something has happened to her!”
Miranda paused to take another drink of her tea. “I know I may be grasping at straws, but I’m asking everyone if they’ve seen her today.”
“Oh, dear, I’m afraid I can’t help. My husband and I haven’t set foot outside at all today. I’m afraid we haven’t yet acclimated to the climate.”
Miranda nodded. “That’s what I assumed, but I had to try. If you do hear anything about her or where she may have gone . . .”
“I’ll be sure to send someone with a message right away.”
“Thank you so much, Lady Burroughs-Hill and I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
“Think nothing of it. It’s no bother at all, and I’m sure we’ll all be relieved when your sister is home safe and sound.”
As Marie showed Miss Higgenbottom out, Darla entered the adjoining bedroom.
“Angelus! Did you eat the Higgenbottom girl?”
Angelus favored her with an evil grin. “She was just so sweet and tender, and she kept followin’ me around with those big calf-eyes. She was just beggin’ me to take her. An’ it’s not like they’re really at the level of our social circle.”
Darla sighed. “Well, I hope you properly disposed of the body.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Captain Drusilla, AKA The Black Goddess, Mistress and Commander of the Aurelius, sat at the head of the Captain’s table, with her eight minions seated on either side of her. They had dropped anchor, and the Aurelius rocked gently on the waves as Drusilla laid out her plan.“First, we are no longer going to try stopping ships. It’s not a good idea. You’ve already eaten our crew and none of you are as good at sailing as the ships we would be trying to stop. They could shoot cannons at us and ruin my luvly ship and Oi should be very cross if that happened. Oi’ve a better plan.”
Drusilla tilted her head as if she were listening for something the others couldn’t hear, and made clicking noises with her tongue. Several of her crew exchanged puzzled glances at the continued silence.
“Well, what’s the plan?” one of the more impatient minions demanded.
Drusilla put her finger to her lips. “Shush! Bad dog. We don’t interrupt when mummy is talking.”
She swayed in her seat, a half-smile on her face while the minions cast worried glances at each other. Suddenly sitting upright, Drusilla spoke forcibly.
“There are lots and lots of islands. Islands that have people on them. We’ll go to a town and take some people, bring them back to the ship and sail away. We can eat them whenever we want once we’re gone, and no one will know what happened to them! The next time, we go to a different town. But—,” she frowned, looking closely at each minion, “there will be no eating while in town! People get very upset when you leave rotting bodies scattered around, and then they come and try to hurt you. I learned that from daddy and grandmama, although I didn’t always remember. We bring them to the ship and sail away. We’ll call it . . . 'take-away dinner'.”
The ex-lieutenant looked at Dru with something akin to respect. That wasn’t a half-bad plan the wench came up with. Much better than *Angelus’* plan.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rowan wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and their new guest’s pursuers, but they also needed a safe place where they could lay up and plan their next move. She had been guided to Loup-Garou to find this man for a reason and he needed food, rest and care for his wounds. The need had been great today, so the afternoon sail was necessary, but daytime travel was a risk for Spike, so they needed to be ensconced in their new hiding place before dawn.Turning the tiller over to Spike, Rowan sat cross-legged on the deck and closed her eyes. To Spike’s enhanced night vision, she seemed to be surrounded by a net of blue sparkles. After a few minutes, she smiled, placed her hands together and bent to touch her forehead to the tips of her fingers. Opening her eyes, she found Spike watching her with interest.
He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Ever see the Aurora Borealis, pet?”
“No, but I’ve heard it’s wonderful. Why do you ask?”
“Looks like you’ve got your own personal light show going on.”
“You saw the light energy?”
“Well . . . yeah. Vampire, here. Enhanced night vision seems to be a part of the package.”
“But that’s exactly why you shouldn’t have been able to see it.” Rowan studied him intently. “Hmmm. There is even more to you than I had originally thought.”
She put that thought away for later and reclaimed the tiller. “We are going to Acklins. We’ll find what we need there.”
After several more hours of sailing, Rowan guided the sloop toward shore. They navigated around jutting rocks and then made a sharp left into a hidden dog-leg shaped cove. Dropping anchor, Rowan slipped over the side of the boat to scout ahead.
An hour later, she returned with a satisfied smile. “Everything is in order. The initial climb will be difficult with our guest, but I believe we can manage.”
Climbing the cliff face with an unconscious man was difficult, and without Spike’s vampiric strength, would have been impossible.
Arriving at the top, Spike saw a stone house at the far side of a meadow of Bermuda grass. The sky was lightening, so he slung the injured man over his shoulder as they hurried to the house.
Moving quickly around the small house to the front door on the other side, Rowan pulled out a small bag which hung from a leather thong around her neck. Opening the bag, she sprinkled some herbs across the doorstep, and then pushed open the door.
Once inside the house, she turned and her fingers sketched signs in the air. Blue fire ran around the door jamb, allowing Spike entrance. “Hurry!” she said as the sun cleared the horizon. Rowan shut the door behind them and led the way to the back.
The house was obviously occupied, but at present, appeared to be deserted.
“Stay close to the wall,” Rowan warned as they entered the bright, cheery kitchen, flooded with sunlight. Hugging the back wall, which was still in shadow, Rowan opened the door to the adjoining, well-stocked pantry.
A trap-door in the pantry floor led to the root cellar via a set of well-worn steps. Rowan motioned for Spike to descend, while she went upstairs, returning with a lantern and an armload of quilts and blankets.
After making the man as comfortable as possible on the make-shift bed, Rowan sat down to catch her breath. “I’ll need to gather some supplies, but you’ll be safe enough here, I should think. But just in case . . .”
Rowan indicated the water cistern in the far corner of the root cellar. At her direction, Spike lifted the heavy stone cover and looked down into the cistern.
Fresh water came to within six feet of the top. Rowan indicated a stone that stuck out a bit farther than the others. When pressed, a section of the cistern wall swung out revealing a dark hole.
“That tunnel goes through the rock and will bring you out in the cove where we left the boat.” Closing the section of the wall, Rowan prepared to leave.
“You’re leaving me here to guard him?” Spike asked curiously. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll eat him?”
Rowan smiled. “You were alone on the boat while I arranged for this sanctuary. Why didn’t you eat him then?”
Spike’s brow furrowed as he thought. “I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this. I should have eaten him instead of helpin’ him. I’m a vampire—I’m evil! I should be out killing and plundering instead of travelin’ around with you, getting’ caught up in an agenda you’re not tellin’ me about, and helpin’ this helpless sod that I should have eaten in the first place! I’m a bloody vampire!”
Rowan stood and lightly stroked his hair. “And you will be a vampire again. A bloody, vicious killer . . . a slayer of slayers. But for now, consider this interlude a glimpse of a different path, a different choice, a rehearsal for your eventual destiny.”
“About that destiny . . . it’s not with Darla, is it?”
Rowan laughed. “Darla and Angelus play a part, as does Drusilla, but, no, your fated opposite is not Darla. Darla’s destiny remains tied to Angelus.”
Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at her closely. “You know I’m lookin’ for Drusilla, and I spoke of Darla, but I don’t believe I ever mentioned Angelus.”
Rowan had turned to climb the steps up to the pantry. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him an enigmatic smile.
“No . . . you didn’t.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Darla had just finished brushing her hair when she sensed Angelus behind her. Grabbing her around the waist from behind, he pulled her tight against him and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. He nibbled her ear as he whispered, “Ah, Darla, why’re we here, livin’ like gents, playin’ by society’s rules?”“Because I like it here, Angelus. I like being admired, respected, looked up to . . .”
“But, Darla, it’s so boring! We weren’t made to be stiff an’ proper, you an’ me. We were made to set the world on fire an’ glory in the burnin’.”
“Yes . . .” Darla murmured.
“Tell ya’ what, love. We’ll play yer game here on Jamaica . . . but there are lots of other islands in these waters. Places where we can be free . . . we’ll feast, an’ rape, an’ torture, an’ kill . . . we’ll have a glorious time, my love.”
Darla turned in his arms and kissed him passionately. “Yes . . . oh, yes, my darling boy!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
A rash of disappearances began to occur throughout the Bahamas. A dozen people would disappear from a town one night, never to be heard from again.Some days later, residents of a different town would wake to discover ten of their citizens gone . . . without a trace.
These incidents eventually gave rise to legends about the Bermuda Triangle. But the legends never mentioned a ship with blood-red sails, under the command of the Black Goddess. And it was she—not aliens or time fluxes or the lost continent of Atlantis—who was actually responsible.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rowan returned with a bowl of hot water, linen strips for bandages, and jars of salves and unguents.“I hope I can finish before he wakes up, but if he regains consciousness, I may need you to hold him down.”
Spike nodded.
Carefully turning the man on his stomach, Rowan gently cleaned the dirt, sweat and dried blood from his back. Some of the lashes were so deep, bits of white bone were exposed. Rowan frowned in concentration. Infection was always a problem, especially with the leg wound.
After painstakingly cleaning his back, she applied a salve, fragrant with healing herbs, and lightly bandaged him. Hopefully, the salve would keep the bandages from adhering to his skin.
Cutting away the pant leg, she gently sponged the wound, picking out pieces of embedded cloth. He moaned in pain. He was too close to consciousness for her to be able to disinfect without his awareness, so she passed a bottle of smelling salts under his nose. When he had regained consciousness, she spoke rapidly.
“My name is Rowan. I’m here to help you. I need to clean and care for the wound on your leg. It will be very painful, but necessary. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and she placed a thick strip of leather between his teeth. Pouring a cup of clean, hot water over the bite wound caused him to bite down hard on the leather, and beads of sweat stood out on his face.
Now came the hard part. Spike held the leg immobile, as Rowan poured a cup of rum into the wound. He screamed, his skin turned ashy and he lost consciousness again. Working as rapidly as possible, Rowan finished her ministrations and collapsed in exhaustion.
Supporting her shoulders, Spike held a cup of rum to her lips. Taking several deep gulps, she felt the warmth of the liquor relaxing her muscles and felt her shaking begin to ease.
“There, pet. You did a good job. He’s safe now. You can rest.”
As she snuggled against Spike’s chest, he held her close and stroked her hair.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rowan awoke from her brief nap feeling refreshed. It was the most restful sleep she had in days. She had better see about dinner, and then she hoped she might be able to manage a bath. She had noticed a large copper tub in the pantry . . . but there was much to do beforehand. Her guest needed nourishment.She started a fire in the cast iron cookstove, and then went outside to butcher the goat she had tethered in the yard. She slit its throat, making sure not to spill any of the blood. She carried the bowl carefully, getting it to Spike while still warm.
Much later, she had a roast in the oven and a large pot of stew simmering on the top of the stove. She added chopped vegetables and herbs to the stew. She cut some thin strips of the meat and spread them to dry in the sun.
It was a shame about the rest of the meat, but they would not be here long enough to properly smoke it. But perhaps . . . Rowan sat down at the kitchen table and closed her eyes in concentration. When she next looked outside, the islanders had taken the remains of the goat, and in its place were oilskin packets of dried, smoked fish.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Angelus had discovered a ship was leaving the following night for the Carolinas, with a stop on Cuba. Cuba was perfect! They were Spaniards, after all, and not likely to be turnin’ up on Jamaica to put a spanner in Darla’s 'Lady of the Manor' game. The ship itself would not be returning to Jamaica, but heading north to the colonies.He hated all this pussyfooting around! It was time he and Darla remembered they were vampires! Angelus smiled . . . he’d heard Cuban 'food' was hotter and spicier than what they’d sampled in Madrid. He looked forward to seeing if it was true.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Elsewhere in the Caribbean, Captain Jack was preparing to take on the British Navy. A ship was bound for Bermuda and then on to Jamaica with lots of lovely pounds sterling as payment for the garrisons there. Captain Jack decided to intercept the pay packet somewhere between the two islands.His men worked as hard, if not harder, than any manning the British garrison; his men deserved a payday, too.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Priscilla Hightower was worried.She caught herself frowning again, and quickly massaged the area between her brows. If she wasn’t careful, she would have permanent lines etched there, and she was only twenty!
Her money was nearly gone, and she had no idea what she would do when that finally occurred. She had thought to find some kind of work to support herself, but all of the honest work was done by island natives.
They did all of the cooking, cleaning, sewing, laundering, dressmaking, hat-making . . . it seemed there were only two careers open to an Englishwoman in the tropics—wife or whore.
Women of Priscilla’s station were educated with one goal in mind—to make an advantageous marriage, produce children and supervise the making of a welcoming home for said husband and children.
She just didn’t have the necessary contacts here in the Caribbean to enable her to receive the introductions and invitations to move about in society in search of an appropriate second husband. George had kept her isolated at home—cut off from contact with family and old friends. The only entertaining they had done was for George’s business associates and male friends. Then, he had dragged her halfway across the world and gotten drunk and died during the journey! Her widowhood was so recent, she was expected to be in mourning, but she needed to find some method of supporting herself . . . and soon!
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rowan carried a bowl of steaming goat stew down the stairs. She was gratified to see her guest’s eyes flutter open as his brain became aware of the savory smell of the hearty stew.Spike helped him into a semi-sitting position. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes were shadowed with pain and fear as he watched Rowan intently.
“You must eat slowly,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know how long it has been since you’ve eaten, and I want to make sure this stays in you, where it will do the most good.”
“Merci,” he croaked through dry, cracked lips.
Rowan held a cup of water for him to drink, and then applied a soothing unguent to his lips before handing him the bowl.
“What is your name?” she asked in French.
“Tiberius,” he replied.
“Don’t try to talk yet, Tiberius. You need to build up your strength. Eat, then rest. We’ll talk later.”
He nodded and began to slowly spoon the rich stew into his mouth.
Returning to the kitchen, Rowan filled the huge kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat. Dragging the copper tub into the center of the floor, she made preparations for the bath she had been looking forward to all day.
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