Chapter Four: Escape into the Quarter
Once outside the bar, Spike briefly considered jumping into the Civic and driving away from any possible conflict. He even opened the door to the back seat. But there was no way he could quickly strap Asher into his infant seat, and he darn well wasn’t going to drive with the baby in his lap. With a growl, he slammed the door and locked it.
Surprisingly, Asher hadn’t made a peep and hadn’t cried; Spike thought it was probably because the baby was so startled by all the hubbub. That, and he still had the Wubbanub in his mouth. He kissed the baby’s cheek and rushed after Clem, who had darted left down a side street toward the Quarter.
Spike was all about feeling responsible when it came to the people he cared about, and he couldn’t let Clem wander off into more trouble. And being in the French Quarter lent itself to all kinds of trouble of the supernatural and regular variety. Spike was relieved to find that Bourbon Street hadn’t swung into high gear yet. It was still way too early, and the crowds weren’t out to party yet. Even the normal Bourbon Street stench was mild as it often was at the beginning of the evening.
He just hoped he didn’t run into Buffy; he wished he could remember what part of the Quarter she and the other Slayers were going to be in, especially because Willow was trying that new spell that blocked detection of the Slayer signature that most supernatural beings could detect. He liked the idea in theory, but at the moment, it wasn’t ideal. She’d have his head for having their son out so late and in a kitten poker game. She’d encouraged him to go out to do demon-related things, but Spike was fairly sure she didn’t mean with Asher in tow.
Spying Clem rushing down St. Peter’s, Spike hustled to catch up, dodging around a young boy who was dancing for tips, a horse-drawn carriage full of tourists, and a couple who were already very inebriated, leaning heavily on one another and struggling to walk in a straight line. Piano music poured out from Pat O’Brien’s, lending liveliness to the otherwise quiet side street.
Clem was so hyper-focused on moving ahead that he almost jumped out of his skin and shrieked when Spike showed up next to him. Even though his hand was full of kittens, the loose-skinned demon held his hand to his heart and laughed. “Oh, you scared me!”
“Couldn’t let my mate get lost in the Quarter.”
“Thanks. I have no idea where I’m going.” The kittens meowed, and Clem held the white one up. “Kitten? I figured we should get something out of the whole deal.”
“Nah. I don’t think so.” Spike stroked his son’s back, and Asher laid his head on Spike’s shoulder. It wasn’t exactly a purposeful motion because Asher wasn’t that coordinated, but Spike would take the bit of affection. “Not sure we need a pet in the midst of getting used to having the little guy in the house.”
Clem gave him a funny look. “As a pet? Surely not.”
Spike shrugged his free shoulder and gave his friend a sheepish grin. “What can I say? I’m Slayer-whipped.” And he didn’t mind in the least; he bit his lip at the thought of Buffy standing in the doorway to their bedroom with fire in her green eyes.
Clem shook his head and thrust the kitten forward with insistence. “Take her anyway. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. What you do with her is up to you.”
Spike gave in, knowing that Clem would probably forget his offer later. “Hold onto him for me. Got my hands full.”
Clem glanced nervously back the direction they’d come. “Should we, um, head on? In case they come after us?”
Spike nodded but for a different reason entirely. “Yeah. Want to head to Frenchmen?” He needed to avoid Buffy and if they went to the Spotted Cat, he could potentially set Asher up to sleep in the back away from the smoke and partygoers. Luckily, the little guy could sleep through a hurricane.
“French men? Is that a weird kind of spa? Or a place for only men from France?” Clem cocked his head to one side. “I suppose that makes kind of sense because New Orleans is technically a French city.”
Moving closer to the building out of the street to allow a cab to drive by, Spike chuckled. “No. It’s a street. The bar where I work is there, and it’s a bit more relaxed than the Quarter in the evening.”
“I could use relaxed. And another beer.”
Spike gazed at the drowsy infant and carefully unstrapped the backpack from his shoulders, setting it on the ground. Then, he held up the baby carrier, frowning. Huh. There were many straps that went god knew where, he’d left the manual behind, and the darkness on the side street wasn’t helping.
“Need some help?” Clem asked, unzipping the backpack and slipping both kittens into the main compartment with the zipper mostly open. Spike made a mental note to make sure his friend took both kittens with him.
“You got any ideas about how to use this bloody thing?”
“Um, yeah. My sister has a little gal. I babysat when I visited. Think she had the same one.” That was convenient, but somehow, Spike wasn’t surprised by Clem’s revelation. He’d come to expect a bit of the unexpected from his friend.
“Allow me?” Clem offered his hand.
Spike readily handed over the inexplicable contraption. “Have at it, mate.”
Clem set his shoulders, cocked his head, and studied the carrier. Then, he began to adjust a strap here and there, looping parts around Spike’s waist first. He held out the pouch in the front with almost reverence. “Put your son here.”
Spike hesitated only a moment and then eased the drowsy baby onto the flap that Clem held with steady hands.
“Lean your head forward,” Clem commanded.
Spike did as he was told, and Clem eased the neck strap over Spike’s head and the other loose bits over his arms. With little fanfare, Asher was snug as a bug against Spike’s chest and mid-section, his breathing slowing with the comforting touch of his father being so close.
“There!” Clem’s mouth formed a satisfied line. “How does it feel?”
“Secure. Thanks, mate.”
“You’re welcome! Now, where is this Frenchmen Street?”
Spike inclined his head to the left and opened his mouth to speak when around the corner on Royal, he heard a dog barking. Somewhere he’d heard that particular variation in a string of barks. He narrowed his eyes as his head shot up, and he saw Liz’s dog, Gershwin, hurtling around the corner and running straight for them, her leash dragging on the pitted concrete street.
Oh, balls.
The light brown standard poodle put on the brakes right in front of Spike and tilted her head to one side as if surprised to see him. Spike briefly considered running away with the baby, but he decided that’d be futile. Plus, he couldn’t resist and scratched the poodle behind her soft ears.
Her boots clacking on the concrete, Liz came barreling after her dog – if a bit belatedly. The short-haired Slayer from Lafayette had a stake cleverly concealed in her hand, and Spike felt – nothing. She hadn’t sent the remotest tingle down his spine to indicate she was a Slayer. Damn. The witch’s spell was good. He knew it worked because they’d practiced on him, but that had been at the house. In the field, the lack of inkling was. . . disconcerting.
Liz skidded to a stop next to her dog who angled her head back as if to say, “I found your vampire, but I know him. He’s married to that other-nice-Slayer lady. What do I do now?!?” Gershwin was trained to sniff out the undead the same way drug dogs ferreted out illicit substances.
Picking up the leash, the Slayer ran her hand to the end and then patted her dog’s furry side. “What on earth are you doing here? Buffy said you were babysitting.”
Spike’s hand splayed out over the lump of dozing Asher. “I am watching the baby.” His attempt to hide his defensive indignation completely failed. It was Clem’s fault for starting the niggling feeling. Spike wasn’t babysitting. He was spending time with his son, who should technically be on his way to dreamland in his own crib.
Liz smirked and crossed her arms. “Lucky it’s me and not your S.O. We’re dividing and conquering the Quarter in attempt to find the baddies who’ve been munching on the tourists. I’m assigned Bourbon because I have Dog here. In a few, there’ll be too many people to sort out for one person – even a Slayer.” She lifted her eyebrows at Clem and addressed Spike. “Who is this?” She chewed her lower lip for a moment and then held out her hand to Clem who looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m Liz. Buffy and Spike’s friend and the Slayer from Lafayette.” Misinterpreting Clem’s dazed expression for confusion, she clarified, “Katie and I – we’re all on board the not-all-demons-are-evil-and-should-be-slayed bandwagon. And if you’re hanging out with Spike and little Asher here, you must be in the okay column.”
“He’s a decent sort,” Spike agreed. “And you can’t tell she’s a Slayer because of one of Willow’s spells.”
“Yep!” Liz beamed, her hand going to the leash to hold her eager dog close. “So, it’s working, right? Wasn’t sure how it’d really work. And we haven’t run into any vampires or demons yet. Well, until you two.”
“It’s definitely working. Don’t feel a thing.”
“Oh good!” She turned back to Clem and re-extended her hand.
Clem smiled at her and grasped her hand in both of his. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss – ”
She shook his hand. “Liz. Just Liz. No Miss.”
“Okay, Liz.”
“And it’s nice to meet you, too. I don’t believe Spike’s brought you around before.”
Gershwin nudged her nose against Clem’s leg, sniffing him and then leaning her head back to lick the demon’s hand. Clem laughed and patted the dog. “That’s because I’m from out of town. Only here for the night.”
“Hence the going out. Very briefly,” Spike added. He needed to get Clem settled on Frenchmen and head home ASAP. He considered digging his cell out of the strata of baby things in the backpack to check for messages from Buffy, but he didn’t want to jinx himself. Besides, she had hers off.
Liz laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Buffy a thing. Just get out of here. Don’t head down around Café du Monde. That’s where she’s searching.”
“What’ll you do if you don’t find anything?” Clem asked, touching his head briefly. Spike thought he still seemed a bit self-conscious around a strange Slayer he couldn’t sense properly.
“We’re reconvening after a few hours at the cathedral. I think the plan is that Katie and I are going to be ‘the bait’ if no one finds anything.” Liz rolled her eyes and made air quotes with her fingers.
“Take it you’re not very fond of that plan,” Spike noted, running his hand over Asher’s rump.
Liz inclined a finger at him. “Nail. Head. Slayers are not. . . bait-y-type people.”
Then, they all noticed that the poodle was nosing around the open section of the baby bag.
“What are you doing? Hey. Stop.” Liz bent and pulled Gershwin gently back.
“Oh!” Clem squatted down and retrieved one of the meowing kittens to show the Slayer. “Poker winnings or rather – ”
“Okay!” Spike interrupted, zipping up the backpack and remaining kitten and looping his arm through the strap. “Liz, it’s good to see you. You’re right. We’ll get out of your way.”
She laughed, obviously not falling for his attempt at diversion. “Thanks. And take Bourbon. You won’t run into Buffy that way. Good luck.”
Spike pivoted in the direction of Bourbon, setting his shoulders. “Yep. Right.” He had a feeling that he and Asher were going to need a lot of luck before the night was through.