"This novel should not be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown
with geat force." - Dorothy Parker

***

Copper ecstasy drenched Darla's senses. Suddenly clammy flesh writhed
in her grip, the struggles of her prey growing weaker as his pulse
grew faint and his death drew near. Ebony pupils blew wide like ink
on damp paper, limbs slackened and his soul departed its mortal host.
Disengaging from his jugular, Darla pushed the fresh, bloodless,
sailor's corpse overboard, letting the roar of the ocean against the
ship's bows mask the splash. Her face slid back to its human form.

She hated travelling by boat. A finite number of meals on a tin box
in the middle of a lot of water. Still, at least disposing of the
dead was easier.

And there were other compensations. Dru was never happier than she
could view the sky like a huge gem studded dome above them,
unfettered by geography, seeing whatever she chose to in the cosmos.
In the daylight hours Dru was bad-tempered and impatient but as dusk
approached ever more excitable, like an eager child about to be let
loose upon a sweet shop, dragging Darla on deck the moment the sun
had set. Night had yet to completely shroud the world in indigo, and
in the west the sky was red and gold.

"It's like a blood orange," Dru had said. Appropriate, in a twisted
way, that the sun should herald their arrival so. Not that the poor
sailor would have known, of course.

In her heavenward transfixion, Dru had barely acknowledged the man's
presence, though. Darla looked at the other vampire, lying spread-
eagled on the deck, looking up at the silver disc that floated on a
cloudless sky.

"We're under the chocolate coin of the moon, grandmother," Dru
whispered, a lace covered hand reaching to grab something, nothing
above her. Darla smiled and lay down next to her inamorata, clasping
the other hand in hers.

"Hey diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle." Dru said. "There's a
cow up there, in the moon. I can hear it bark."

"Cows moo, my love," Darla said, patiently.

"Not all. Some of them bark and some cluck like chickens. They aren't
as intelligent," Dru stated sagely.

Darla smiled. "Of course."

Suddenly, in a worried voice Dru whined, "we're like the dish and the
spoon; we ran away from the little laughing dog."

The blonde vampire reached across to brush some hair from Drusilla's
forehead. "Shh, my pet. Spike will be alright, he'll find us
eventually, he always does." Leaning across, she placed a kiss on
Dru's soft mouth, and felt the face harden beneath her as Dru tasted
the blood still fresh on Darla's lips.

They'd left Spike behind in the Old World. He was becoming more and
more obsessed with finding another Slayer to kill; killing one such
creature in China had given him a bloodlust, an overwhelming
obsession that had resulted in the trio being dragged around half the
world chasing the callings like dawn chased the sunset. But he never
won, sometimes never even got close. And all the time he never
realised that Drusilla was spending more time in Darla's bed than his
own.

After all, it had been many years since Angelus had left and a lady
needs a companion.

And Darla didn't want to share Dru now, not with Spike, not with
anyone. So whilst the poet chased his young girls, Darla wanted to
take his old girl away. And what better place than America? Land of
opportunity, of Eisenhower and jazz music. Darla wanted to have some
fun. She'd heard New Orleans was the place to be. She was sure
Drusilla would love it.

Spike would return to take back his sire, reclaim his princess from
the wicked stepmother. He might take one year or he might take one
hundred, but he would come back. Little matter; until then Drusilla
belonged only to her. Carpe diem, carpe Dru.

Beneath her, the brunette purred. "I'm hungry."

Darla broke the kiss, smiling into yellow eyes. "Let's go find you a
meal, cherie."

***

A bell pealed mournfully somewhere outside, a clear note amongst a
babble of human voices and the shriek of gulls. The boat rocked
gently against its mooring.

She lay in the cabin on the bed, Drusilla lapping at her breast like
a cat. They were staying below deck until nightfall allowed them safe
passage on American soil. But for now Darla imagined they were near a
fruit market, so that the bittersweet smell of oranges might herald
their arrival here.

***