Winter had taken such a grip that if he chose, Spencer could spend over twelve hours out in the city. The sun set early and rose late, and most of the humans hated it. They came out of work to the orange glow of street lamps, and went to work the next morning before they had been turned off.
Before his turning, Spencer had lived by those street lamps, though he'd been on the opposite schedule to those working the nine to five daily grind. He was sure that, at one point or another, his friends had labelled him a vampire even before his turning, since he rarely saw the sun. A night owl, thriving in the dark.
These days, it was a necessity, and he enjoyed winter for the darkness it provided, but there was nothing like a hot summer night. The almost constant smell of summer iced ciders had been replaced with signs advertising mulled cider and wine as the holidays rapidly approached. Every night a different company held their Christmas party. Obnoxiously over-patterned sweaters were everywhere, as constant as the sweet spiced smell.
The cheap chain bars served it out of a box, emptied into a vat and heated, served in whichever glass was closest. The more expensive and flashy bars mixed their mulled concoctions themselves, served with a stick of cinnamon that no one in their right mind would do anything with other than throw away.
Spencer stood in the doorway of the bar, watching the uninhibited belly laughs of the already drunk, breathing in the scent of the desperate attempts at office flings. He licked his lips, tasting the mistakes to be regretted when January rolled around.
They weren't here. He knew from the moment he'd come in that August was not inside. The others took longer, searching through voices and tastes, but even after all this time, he knew August's absence in a moment. And he'd thought the connection was fading.
He'd fed once already, just a little something to ensure he wouldn't be distracted from his search. Even early in the night, he had tasted of those holiday spices. Now he stood, assaulted by the scent from all around him, it was not the other thoughts that overwhelmed his head, but his own. He moved to the side, bracing himself against the wall as they echoed in his head, flickers of images every time he closed his eyes.
"Spencer?"
Spencer spun on his heel, already beaming. He held a half-peeled orange in one hand, a thin and sharp peeler in the other. August did not look quite so amused, his nose wrinkled and his lips pressed tight.
"Hey!" Spencer said. "I thought you were out tonight."
"Why does it smell like a cheap bath salts store in here?"
Grimacing, Spencer put the orange and the peeler down on the counter.
"That bad?"
"I can smell it throughout the house."
"Shit, sorry. Probably should have opened a window or something."
"Or perhaps not massacre orange orchards?" August suggested with a glance to the five other skinned oranges sitting on the counter. "What are you doing?"
"Making cocktails."
"Oh really? And where are all these cocktails?"
Spencer smiled, a small embarrassed smirk as he avoided his eye.
"I drank them."
Chuckling, August stepped closer. He rounded the counter with slow, measured steps until he could trap Spencer against it. Placing a hand against the granite counter top on either side of him, he leaned close and inhaled deeply, his nose and lips just brushing Spencer's neck.
"You don't smell of alcohol, Spencer."
Spencer shuddered and drew the backs of his fingers along the inside of August's arm.
"It's almost Christmas, I thought I'd make some vampire cocktails, you know, a party? I hadn't gotten to the alcohol yet. I was still trying to get the spices right, stronger tastebuds and all."
August stood up straight, but remained close to him as he glanced around the kitchen, his gaze landing on a metal pot on the hob. He sniffed tentatively.
"Spencer, is there blood in that pot?"
"Yeah."
"From?"
"I might have taken a few of the blood bags from the fridge."
"Spencer, those are for emergencies."
"Well, I couldn't exactly experiment making mulled-blood without the blood now, could I?"
"Excuse me? Mulled blood?"
Spencer beamed and nodded.
"The Christmas Vampire drink."
August shuddered and shook his head.
His gaze swept over the ingredients Spencer had laid out. Finally, he groaned and stepped back.
"More orange, less cinnamon," he said. He patted Spencer's cheek and walked back out of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. "And for God's sake, Spence, open a window while you play undead bartender!"
Spencer shoved the bar door open and stepped back out into the winter air. With every deep breath the memories began to freeze in the cold air, shivering and harder to see through the clouds of hot breath. The scent of his cocktail attempts his first Christmas of being a vampire faded from his nostrils. They had been an unmitigated disaster, and August had made him promise, under some rather enjoyable threats in curtain darkened daytime, that he'd never attempt to make cocktails with blood again.
He knew he was meant to be hanging to memories of August, clinging to his voice and his scent in an attempt to find him, but right now he wanted nothing more than to push those thoughts aside, to let the other voices take over and help him forget.
Still, he clung to them and took a deep breath, following the scent he remembered. Spencer wanted to consider it coincidence that each bar he'd been to, thinking he was following August, had taken him to memories he shared with the man. He'd been a vampire for half a dozen years in this city, it wasn't surprising that there were few places he didn't have memories of the man, but each time, his stomach only dropped further until he was sure a drop of blood would echo through his body.
The Fishbowl's neon light was already glowing, a bulking bouncer stood at the front of a short but noisy queue. Spencer turned away and instead went towards the bar on the other side of the square.
It was the same bar he'd first met Thomas in, taking a seat beside the morose almost vampire at the bar, convincing him that what he was turning into was real. Spencer was about to push the door open, to test the scents inside, when he paused. He moved away from the door, instead staring through the large windows leading out onto the small patio. In summer, the patio would be bursting with people, almost as many standing on the street as could pack into the small bar, but now it was empty. The bar, however, was not empty, and it wasn't just strangers within the dark walls. Seated at the far end of the bar, Spencer saw the face that was as familiar as his own.
Sinking down onto one of the damp patio chairs, Spencer dug into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He lit it and let the taste overwhelm the close scent of the man he'd been looking for. Only, he wasn't alone. Spencer watched through the window, peering past the people moving within the bar. She shook her head and gave a laugh. Her dark hair was down, her eyes shining with mirth as their heads bent together and she pointed someone out.
Spencer's heart cracked, threatening to shatter completely. The voices and Edeline's blood wasn't enough to distract him from the cold flooding through him at the sight of them. He'd never known a full sire bond until Paige, and even their bond was diluted since she was also sired to August. He'd spent so much of his time high that it was easy to forget something he'd only tasted briefly before he'd left.
He could feel it all now, a phantom limb that should have been attached to his body somehow, another brain and heart. Echoes of her filled his head, like the echoes of August had haunted his mind all evening. Only, these echoes danced in technicolour, promises of what could be.
August sat back in his chair, giving Paige one of his taunting smirks. She smacked his arm and leaned close to whisper in his ear. When she pulled back, there was a triumphant grin on her lips. August nodded slowly. When his gaze left hers, it drifted aimlessly across the bar. For a moment, Spencer thought he'd seen the absent recognition in his face, that their gazes had met, but August moved on, turning back to Paige.
It was better that way, anyway. Paige deserved someone who could look after her, someone to protect her and make her happy. She had Thomas to make her happy, August to protect her. She didn't need a junkie tied to her. August didn't need a mess to clean up.
It had been wrong to come back here. Edeline had been wrong, as had the thoughts she'd read. Maybe once there had been a hope, but he'd ruined whatever chance he'd had to fix this. They were better off without him. He'd fallen too far. He should just turn Vince and be done with it. A new life somewhere, perhaps? Not that he wanted the dead-eyed teen around for an eternity. No, there had to be a better answer... but it wasn't to drag Paige or August down with him.
When August's gaze snapped back to the window, the patio was deserted but for the half-smoked cigarette still burning in the ashtray.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Please accept my apologies for the delay in last week's chapter. I had people staying for Easter, and little time. Then, just as they left, I ended up with a cold that had me feeling as undead as my characters.
I'm also not entirely happy with this chapter, I'm sure it will be altered heavily when it comes to later drafts.
But, on the other hand... mulled blood, anyone?
I'll be getting another chapter up for you before the weekend is done. ;)
Remember to vote and comment.
Chele