Happy Holidays, everyone!
Dedication: To the beautiful Mary, who has been hinting so politely about having more Bloodlines written, but until now I haven’t taken heed.
Author’s Notes: Marlowe and the events of Barrow are taken from the movie, 30 Day of Night, but the survival of Marlowe and his clan have been twisted to fit my universe.
If you don’t remember beans anymore about Bloodlines, read the last chapter of Bloodlines, the Epilogue, http://keonkwa.com/Bloodlines,%20The%20Epilogue,%20Djoser's%20Date.htm#7, Djoser's Date.htm, and that will give you the background for this story.
Caitiff vampire, a clanless vampire, usually the result of having been abandoned by the ones who made them.
Bloodlines, the Holidays, 2008
Barrow, Alaska, November 26, 2008
“Dig deeper,” Spike urged Connor, who was head first in an overly large chest freezer. “There has to be a least one turkey in this bloody town.”
“Fuck!” Connor let out the expletive, as he fell back out of the freezer. “I think my hands are frost-bitten. You’re the vampire, who cold doesn’t affect; you go forging for a turkey.”
“Fuckin’ Whinger,” Spike murmured under his breath with an eye roll, as he threw his cigarette down on the floor. “Fine, move over.” He elbowed Connor out of the way and bent down into the freezer.
“I don’t know why having a Thanksgiving is so important to you,” Connor said, blowing on his reddened hands. “Vampires don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“And I don’t understand why you’re protesting so much, being one of the three, err, two humans in our little group. It really is debatable whether Dana is human or not, and does Illyria count as a human? Anyway, I thought you’d appreciate my efforts.” Spike teetered on the edge of the freezer.
“I guess.” Connor shrugged, as Spike slid further into the freezer. “But my human days seem like a life time ago, and besides one of these days I’ll be turned, and that will close the chapter on my humanity. ”
“Bloody hell!” Spike had all but dived into the freezer. “Someone took out the bottom of this thing and cut a hole in the floor under it.”
“Really?” Connor peered into the freezer with renewed interest. “What for?”
“Looks like. . . .” Spike swung his whole body into the chest. “A hiding place or, I don’t know, maybe they were trying to horde food.”
“The town is being massacred by a clan of ferocious vampires, and someone takes the time to cut out the bottom of a freezer and the floor beneath it to horde food? What an idiot or idiots!”
“Well, think about it.” Spike began throwing items out of the freezer. “Who but fuckwits would live in this god-forsaken place. Marlow was no fool. He was able to eat a whole town with no one to stop him.”
“And the Council never bothered to send anyone here to check things out,” Connor commented thoughtfully.
“Nothing left to check out,” Spike said as he heaved an armful of frozen vegetables out of the chest. “And probably, none of those prima donna slayers would come near this town. They like to live it up in LA, New York, London, Paris, Rome.”
“Which is good, right, because the chances are they won‘t come here looking for us?” Connor stomped his feet, trying to ward off the cold. The average high temperature of Barrow in November barely climbed above 0° F, and Connor, despite his demon heritage, was all too human when it came to winter weather. “Jesus, it’s awful here! I swear the hell dimension I lived in, wasn’t as bad as this.”
“Hate to break it to you, but it’s only going to get colder. I found one!” Spike shouted triumphantly, as he stood up holding a large frozen turkey. “Murphy’s law, of course, it was near the bloody bottom of the heap.”
“Great,” Connor said with relief. Maybe now, he could get back to the power house, where Angel had set up their living quarters. It was well heated with a wood-burning stove and some electric heaters. The rest of the town was still powerless, which meant the grocery store they were currently raiding was almost as cold as it was outside.
“O-kay, one turkey, check.” Spike swung a leg over the freezer, as he balanced the turkey. “What’s next on the list?”
“List?” Connor was puzzled. “What list?”
“The Thanksgiving dinner list, the one, that you have to make, since you’re the only human, who’s actually celebrated Thanksgiving.”
“Me?” Connor started to exclaim and then just sighed. Leave it to his brother to start a project and then expect him to finish it. “Didn’t you celebrate Thanksgiving once? I thought I heard something about you, Thanksgiving, the Slayer, and then our sire showing up?”
“Yep.” Spike shook his head in the affirmative. “Complete with the spirits of vengeful Indians. I spent the whole time tied to a chair but they did feed me some dinner after the spirits were dispatched. So I have some vague memories of what was on the menu. Turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and. . . .” He stared expectantly at Connor, who was trying to gather his wits in the chill.
“Ahh, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole,” he listed off. “Oh, and there’s always pumpkin pie for dessert with whipped cream. Maybe even an apple pie too.
“Well, I doubt if anyone here has the culinary skills to make homemade pies, but I saw some frozen ones here.” Spike handed the turkey to Connor and turned back to the freezer.
“Jeez!” Connor swore, as he quickly looked for a spot to lay the turkey down. It wasn’t doing his ice-cold hands any good. “Oh, and one more thing,” he remembered. “The turkey has to be stuffed.”
“Stuffed?” Spike pulled out a couple of frozen pies out of the freezer. “Stuffed with what?”
“I dunno.” Connor shrugged. “With stuff.”
Spike sighed . “You’re not exactly a fountain of information, are you?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve lived with humans, give me a break.”
“Right then.” Spike lifted a shopping basket off the floor and started to load it with the groceries. “We’ll take everything back to the lair and then find Dana. Perhaps she knows.”
“Dana?” Connor questioned. “Can she even boil water?”
“She lived with Faith, and, and that. . . .” Spike racked his brain for the name of the Watcher-In-Training, who had worked with Faith and Dana in San Diego. “Giles Jr for a few years. They must have celebrated Thanksgiving.”
“If they did, they went out for Thanksgiving dinner. None of those three could cook.”
“O-kay.” Spike considered. “We’ll ask Illyria then.”
“Illyria!” Connor threw a couple of cans of sweet potatoes in the basket. “Dana knows nothing about cooking, and Illyria knows even less.”
“The old goddess has Fred’s memories, and I’m sure Fred knew how to whip up a Thanksgiving meal.”
“She does?” This was news to Connor.
“Yeah, and she can turn herself into Fred if the situation calls for it.”
“Really.” Connor watched, as Spike checked out the store’s produce.
“Think these are any good?” Spike asked, holding up a sack of potatoes.
“Probably.” Connor had no idea but was so cold that he’d do or say anything to hurry their shopping expedition up.
“ ‘K.” Spike added them to their growing pile of food. Turning, he strolled down the next aisle scooping up a winter parka with fur-lined hood from the floor. “Here.” He tossed it to Connor. “This should help.”
“I’m not wearing this!” Connor held the coat distastefully between thumb and forefinger. “I’ll look incredibly stupid in it.”
“You’re in the middle of bloody nowhere,” Spike enunciated slowly, as he searched the shelves for green beans. “No one cares what you look like.”
“Oh, I’m supposed to wear this and look like a big dork, while all of you. . . .” He gestured toward Spike, who was clad in his customary black duster. “Get to have that cool vampire look.”
Sighing, Spike grabbed a few cans of green beans. “Then freeze your arse off for the sake of vanity. Who you trying to impress anyway?”
Connor said nothing as he continued to stare at the coat, debating whether he should put it on or not.
“Bloody hell!” Spike suddenly understood. “You don’t want to look like a prat in front of Illyria! She’s a bit old for you, isn’t she?” He snickered loudly.
“Shut-up!” Connor ordered, flushing red with embarrassment. “Or I’ll leave right now, and you can figure out how to cook a Thanksgiving meal on your own.”
“Fine, fine.” Spike added the green beans to the basket. “But don’t think you have a chance with her. Despite the fact that Illyria has stayed with us, she secretly still despises all of us. We’re inferior to her royal highness.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Connor grumbled, as practicality finally overcame pride, and he slipped the parka on and zipped it up. “But now that I know she can imitate Fred, I’m even more intrigued because Fred was a looker.”
“And also our of your league,” Spike muttered, eyeing the shelves for the cranberry sauce.
“Here, we need this too.” Connor dumped a box of brown sugar and a pound of frozen butter into the basket. “By the way, how exactly are we going to cook all of this? Our lair is only equipped with a microwave, and I don’t think the turkey will fit.”
“Oh, right.” Spike scratched his head. As usual when an idea struck him, he went with it, and didn’t bother to think out all of the logistics “Guess, we need a proper stove and oven. I’ll have Djoser find one. Come on then,” he ordered. “Thanksgiving’s tomorrow, and there’s no time to waste.”
**
Descending to the first floor of their new lair, Angel was surprised that the only sound he heard was the soft tones of the television, broadcasting the latest world news from CNN. Usually the noise was at deafening decibels of gunfire, explosions, and loud music from either the newest video game and/or action movie.
“Where is everybody?” he asked Nic, who was stretched peacefully out on the couch.
“Preparing a Thanksgiving dinner,” Nic said, staring at the TV. “William decided to have the typical Thanksgiving meal, but unfortunately neither Connor nor Dana have much of an idea how to make one. So he now recruited Illyria to access Fred’s memories and, well, you get the picture. Illyria decided that the groceries they brought back weren’t sufficient, so she, William, and Connor are out grocery shopping. Djoser and Dana’s orders are to check every establishment to find the best stove in town. Then they’re to bring it back here and install it. Have I forgotten anyone?” He finally turned to Angel with a half-grin, a smile that was reminiscent of the Old Nic, the one before the Great War.
Throwing himself in the nearest chair, Angel took the news calmly. The War had changed him too. “Djoser and Dana are checking out every house in town,” he repeated Nic’s words, as he reached for a walkie-talkie. “Djoser,” he spoke into it.
“Sire.” The response was prompt and respectful. The Great War hadn’t changed everything.
“While you’re going through all the houses, if you find any kind of liquor, bring it back here.” He looked over at Nic. “The sale of alcohol was prohibited here, but booze itself was not illegal, so I’m sure most of the households had some stockpiled. ”
“I stand corrected; you can have a good idea every century or two.” Nic more than approved. “Unless, of course, Marlowe took off with all the town’s booze.”
“Perhaps some of it.” Angel spoke again into the walkie-talkie. “Djoser make sure you search the houses thoroughly for any bottles.”
“Copy that.” Djoser’s precise way of speaking was ruined by the crackle of the walkie-talkies.
“Copy that?” Angel threw Nic a inquisitive look.
“Too many movies. Blame William.”
“Okay.” Angel slouched back in the chair, as he tossed the walkie-talkie on the coffee table. “I can’t believe Marlowe would have found every single bottle of booze in this town. There has to be some left because the few bottle we brought were gone within days of our arrival.”
“Hopefully, he and his clan were too busy feasting on the natives.,” Nic commented, as he settled back comfortably, hand behind his head. “By-the-way, there hasn’t been any sign of Marlow since his massacre of this town, think he’s dead?”
Angel shook his head in the negative. “Probably took some of the townspeople hostage for a food supply, so he and his clan can lay low. But it’s been a year, so he may surface again soon.”
“The slayers will be waiting for him.”
“They don’t know where he’ll resurface; he’ll surprise them, just like he did here in Barrow. Djoser.” Angel picked up the walkie-talkie again. “As soon as you find a bottle, any kind of bottle, bring it here immediately! What?” he responded to the incredulous look Nic gave him. “I’m thirsty.”
“Hey, you won’t get any objections from me.” Nic held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m always thirsty.”
“Yeah,” Angel whispered to himself, as he once again threw the walkie-talkie on the table. A few moments passed, as he contemplated, memories of the last couple years flashing before his eyes.
“Ironic isn’t it?” Nic’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Most of our kind slaughtered, but the one who survives is that nobody, Marlowe, a fucking Caitiff.”
“I don’t think he’s a nobody,” Angel answered in a soft voice, as he lifted his feet to rest them on the coffee table. “He’s one of the oldest of our kind.”
“What!” Nic sat up with shock. “Oldest? By oldest do you mean a couple hundred years or so? Because I never heard of the bastard, so he can’t be older than I am.”
“Try a couple of thousand years older than you.” Angel squirmed impatiently in his chair; he so wanted that drink.
“Bullshit! I would have known about an ancient vampire, who hadn’t been turned to dust. Have you met this Marlowe? And did he claim to be that old because vampires lie about their ages all the time.”
“Never met him.” Angel eyed the walkie-talkie again, and wondered if he should make his request in a louder tone, that usually got his childer to take notice. “But according to Judelin and Our Sire, Marlowe was around even before they were.”
“Fucking A.” Nic couldn’t believe his ears. “So if this Marlowe is as old as they said, then where’s he’s been? Where was he during the War? And now he shows up with a rag-tag crew of Caitiff vampires?”
“That’s right.” Angel nodded his head. “He shows up after the War is all but over, alive and well.”
“Fuck!” Nic let what Angel said sink in. “That cunning bastard! He’s been keeping a low profile, so low, that he wasn’t even on the slayers’ radar.”
“I also heard a rumor, right before we left. . .civilization.” Angel smiled slightly, as he referenced the time they had spent in Fairbanks, gearing themselves up to escape to Barrow. “That Marlowe owns a ship, a rather large ship.”
“Makes sense.” Nic fell back down on the couch, his bad eye shimmering in the light. “After destroying Barrow, he takes human hostages, and they sail off into the Artic Circle and hide there. Fuck, he and his clan are set for, for. . . .” He glanced over at Angel, realizing that his brother had already figured that out.
“Here’s your bloody bottle.” Spike, Connor, and Illyria came crashing through the main door, halting anymore speculation on Marlowe. Spike stepped over to Angel and banged a bottle of cheap wine on the end table next to him. “The townspeople here had poor taste.”
“Better than nothing.” Nic jumped up to grab a couple of glasses, as Connor and Illyria dumped a few baskets of groceries on the kitchen table they had set up near the microwave and small refrigerator. “Got everything you need?”
“No, “ Illyria answered, as she surveyed all the food items in front of her. “We are still missing a few essentials.”
Her prouncement elicited a groan from Connor and an eye roll from Spike.
“Blue.” Spike glared at her with exasperation. “Didn’t I ask you if that was everything we needed?”
“I miscalculated. We have to go back.”
“Right,” Spike sighed. “But this time don’t forget anything. Come on then.” He waved an arm at Illyria and Connor.
“Are you kidding?” Connor exclaimed because despite the warmth of the power house and the huge parka, he was red-faced with cold. It was now late evening and the temperature had dropped 10 degrees to a balmy well-below-zero, and the wind had picked-up bringing the climate to a dangerous cold. “We have to go out now?”
“Perhaps, you should stay in,” Angel suggested mildly as he gratefully accepted the glass of wine that Nic offered him.
“N-No,” Connor immediately protested, not wanting to be left out of the activities. Living in Barrow was boring enough.
“If you’re going to be spending anytime outdoors, you need to dress in layers,” Nic advised, while pouring himself another glass of wine. He had downed the first one in a couple of gulps. “Long underwear underneath, then pants and shirt, and then coat, cap and gloves. We have all of that gear upstairs.” He pointed at the staircase.
“Forget it!” Connor dismissed his uncle with a wave of the hand. It was bad enough wearing the parka, but there was no way he was going to dress-up like a snowman.
“It’s either that, or stay here with us,” Angel spoke-up, while setting his glass down carefully. He said this in a mild tone, but no one in the room was fooled. There was no arguing with his directive.
“Fuck,” Connor muttered quietly, as he stomped toward the stairs. Spike and Illyria watched him go with Spike sniggering mockingly at his younger brother, and Illyria furrowing her brow and cocking her head.
“The conditions of this place affect him in a negative way,” she observed.
“As a human, the conditions here could kill him,” Angel explained, who had just finished topping off his glass, and was now sadly shaking an empty bottle. “But they don’t trouble you at all, do they?”
“The conditions are certainly not as pleasant as they were back in LA, but,” Illyria trailed off, considering. “Perhaps, I, too should find something more to dress in.”
Angel and Nic exchanged looks and slight shrugs. So far Illyria hadn’t seemed affected by the weather, but who really knew her physiology.
“Couldn’t hurt,” Angel waved the empty wine bottle at Spike, relaying the message that more was wanted. “Make sure that every and all bottles are found.”
Spike sighed, while doing another eye roll. Here he was trying to accomplish something, and all his Sire could think about was alcholic beverages. But after amother moment of thought, he realized that in this instance their roles were reversed. He was usually the one fixated on finding and/or drinking a pint.
“Right, check for liquor,” he answered without argument. The slayers’ genocide of all demons had scarred all of them physically and emotionally; Spike’s bravado had all but disappeared.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Connor tromped down the stairs, bundled-up to his eyeballs. He knew he looked ridiculous, but enduring that bone-numbing cold and wind without proper clothing was something he did not want to repeat again. He felt slightly better, when Illyria came into view, wearing a parka with a fur-lined hood, even though Spike let out a loud snigger at the sight of him.
“Let’s go then,” he said, marching to the door, ignoring his brother, who followed him snorting the whole time with Illyria bringing up the rear.
“Ahh, peace once again.” Nic settled back on the couch. “Now we just need another bottle of booze.
“Agreed.” Angel, too relished the tranquility of having the power house to just himself and brother. “Perhaps, after they’ve returned we should think up more chores for them to do.”
**
November 27, 2008
The television was booming, but for once Angel didn’t mind. It was Thanksgiving day, and football filled the large TV screen. He had been a fan of the game since his New York days back in the 90’s.
“Thank God for Satellite TV!” Nic flopped down on the couch beside him, drumstick in one hand, bowl of muskoxen blood in the other. “Hiding out in the Artic sure isn’t what it used to be.”
“It never ceases to amaze me how so much has changed,” Angel spoke softly, as he glanced over at Nic. “How’s the turkey?”
Dipping the drunstick in the blood, Nic took a bite. “Not bad,” he said, while chewing. “Which is actually quite a miracle, considering the cooks.” He looked meaningfully over at Illyria, Connor, Spike, and Dana, who were busily eating the feast with Spike and Connor bickering and throwing food at each other, Dana tossing in her two-cents, Djoser doing his best impersonation of ignoring them, and Illyria watching the antics with curiosity. “The Five Stooges.”
Angel smiled slightly, letting the feeling of contentment wash over him. “If we stay here, away from civilization, do you think they’ll let us be?”
Nic shrugged. “You know Giles and Buffy better than I. If we’re not killing, will they give us a free pass, knowing they killed all of our clan and all of our allies?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know them anymore, and they don’t know me.” Angel paused, considering. “Our other option would be to track down this Marlowe and align ourselves with him. He’s been one step ahead of the slayers, perhaps a partnership with him would save us.”
Angel’s statement had Nic pausing mid-bite on his drumstick. “You’re kidding, right? Ally with this unknown vampire? We could be getting ourselves into something we’re not prepared for. And how would this Marlowe take to our two…two? He motioned toward the kitchen table.
“Our aces-in-the-hole,” Angel finished Nic’s question. He looked over, first at Dana and then Illyria. “Not technically demons, either of them, but both could be more dangerous than any demon, who still exists on this earth.” He paused, thoughtful. “We have until early spring to come up with our next move. If anyone is going to rebuild this town, nothing will happen until the winter is over. Until then we can rest.”
****
Finis