Set 3 years after Bloodline. The war is over. The clans are at peace. Darren and Darius Shan have been travelling the world as full-time members of the Cirque Du Freak ever since. Life is good. With Christmas around the corner, Darren decides it's high time for a family reunion. He starts writing invitations. One for Mum and Dad. One for Annie. This would be a lot easier if he'd just stopped there. But taking the easy route is hardly on brand for Darren Shan.

TLDR: what we have here is the lore of the Dirty Chai AU with the energy of The Vampire Files adapted by the Hallmark studio.

Chapter 1: All I Want For Festivus Is You (And You, And You, And -)

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The blaring trumpets sent goosebumps up and down Darren's skin as much now as ever. More, even.

After all, this was his cue.

Backstage, he adjusted the collar of his dazzling red ringmaster's suit — brand new Truska couture — and shot Evra a grin over his shoulder.

"How do I look?" Darren asked.

Evra rolled his eyes as his snake — draped over his shoulders like a scarf — flicked her tongue lazily. "Same as every night, just with more glitter. Now quit preening!" He teased Darren without mercy. "You're distracting us from our warmup."

"Don't listen to Dad. I think your new suit is very pretty, Uncle Darren." Lilia Von piped up. She was sitting comfortably in the large steel wheelbarrow that Rhamus Twobellies would devour on stage in about half an hour from now.

"Thanks, Lil." Darren grinned, unable to resist running his palms over the glimmering red fabric one more time. "Truska outdid herself. This was worth every last growing pain I had to —"

"Be quiet, Lilia! You're gonna make him miss his cue!" Shancus spoke up from Darren's other side. Even while arranging the tray of candy he'd sell at intermission, he still found time to worry about what his siblings were up to.

"Never fear, Shancus. I've got everything under control." Darren assured his namesake with a wink and a pat on the shoulder as he positioned himself between the two huge red velvet curtains.

The chorus of trumpets reached a boneshaking crescendo, then went quiet. Darren took a deep breath and counted down.

One.

Two.

Three.

Show time.

Darren thrust the curtains open with a flourish and strutted out to center stage to greet the crowd. He only had to exaggerate the spring in his step a little bit. Life was just that good.

"Ladies and gentlemen… steel your nerves and sharpen your senses, for it is my honour and privilege to welcome you to the weird, the wonderful…." Pause for dramatic effect. "…Cirque Du Freak!"

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LATER THAT NIGHT

Darren's Journal:

Wow. It's been a while. We've got a lot to catch up on. In my defence, this journal got lost behind one of the seats in the van. Urcha found it and has been using it as a colouring book for the past few months. Evra brought it to me a couple hours ago. He felt really bad about the damage, but I think the crayon scribbles add a lot of character.

Looks like my last few entries covered the end of the war and the five year mission that came after. As of now, I've been back at the Cirque full time for about three years. Mr. Tall considers me his Second In Command of sorts. I think that might be the highest honour of my life. I've got the best of both worlds now. I've fulfilled my duty as a Vampire Prince during wartime and remained in excellent standing. I keep in regular contact with mum and dad (retired and thriving) and Annie (happily married with twin toddlers).

Darius is fifteen now. I can't believe he'll be learning to drive the Cirque vans next year! Not only is he doing well, he's even hitting his stride as a performer. He's actually gearing up to take over the act I perfected the year I came back: the Shan Spider Conga Line! I barely had to help him in tonight's show. Which was good, because I was standing in as Ringmaster for Mr. Tall! He's training me to be his official backup for times when he's busy or needs a break. I haven't had many jobs, but this one is my favourite.

It's been like a dream. No, really. A proper dream. Sure, I still have nightmares every once in a while. I don't think those will ever go away. But when I'm awake, I'm happy. I suppose I've served my time and then some, haven't I? I keep telling myself I've earned this.

If not for all my scars, it'd be almost like it never even happened. Weirdly enough, that's why I'm grateful for my scars. They're proof I survived a real-life nightmare. They also remind me it really did happen. Which helps, because I haven't heard from a single other vampire or vampaneze since the night I, along with my fellow Princes, disposed of the Stone of Blood forever.

Taking a break from the vampire clan was just what I needed. But…

Darren put down his pencil as he watched his own hand write those three letters on the page: B-U-T. There was a but? Since when had there been a but? Life was great. Just like he wrote. For the first time since that first fateful night he visited the Cirque Du Freak, Darren had nothing to complain about.

…But (and this was far from the first time he wondered) didn't they care if he ever got back to work? Surely even Vampire Princes can run out of vacation time. He'd always sort of figured one of them — probably Mika — would simply materialize outside his camper van one evening, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, inquiring as to whether or not Darren planned on making himself useful any time soon or if he was pursuing a new career as a full-time circus clown. But it hadn't happened yet. Darren tried not to be offended. Mika was probably just busy. He was always busy. Out of the current Princes, Darren was closest to Kurda and Vancha anyway. Oddly enough, neither of them had reached out either. Probably also busy.

Naturally, Mr. Crepsley crossed Darren's mind more than anyone else. Vampire Mountain's newest Quartermaster was surely keeping as busy as any of the Princes; otherwise he would have mind-linked with Mr. Tall to see if his former apprentice was even still alive. The poor man must be run off his feet. But what of Seba? He was retired. You'd think he'd make time to visit. Perhaps his health was failing. If so, why had nobody told Darren that? Did they ever think about Darren? Did they even remember him? He didn't think vampires needed to wait for an invitation to show up anywhere, but Mr. Crepsley had never been a good communicator so who the hell knew for sure?

Gracie visited him once, about a year ago. During a break from training she left the mountain to practice flitting and make a few social calls. She spent a week with her dads at their seaside cabin, then met up with the Cirque a few countries away. It was the first time Darren had seen her since the end of the mission when he'd given her a letter to relay to Mr. Crepsley back at the mountain. His heart lurched when she pulled an envelope from her backpack and said, "You've got mail." The letter was from Harkat, and it was lovely. But Darren couldn't help feel deflated by the fact that Mr. Crepsley had opted out of an opportunity to send any form of communication. Not even a say hi to Darren from me.

He could've handled the others carrying on their business without sparing a second thought for him. But Mr. Crepsley?! He thought he played it cool when he opened the letter, but his disappointment had clearly shown on his face.

"To be fair, not only would he have to find the words to reply to your letter, he'd have to speak them out loud to someone who knew how to write them down. For a guy as emotionally stunted as he is, that's a lot to cope with." Gracie reasoned as they sat at the campfire. "I'm sure it'll be easier for him to just talk to you in person when he visits."

"It's been almost two years since you gave him my letter, and seven since I've seen him face to face!" Darren groaned, struggling to keep the petulance to a minimum. After all, he had little to complain about. It just… stung. He hesitated to add, "Does he ever plan on visiting?! It's not as if he doesn't know how to find the Cirque."

Gracie threw her hands up in exasperation, almost tossing her potsticker into the fire. "I don't know what goes on in his mind, Darren! But I flitted halfway across the continent to see you. Doesn't that count for something?"

"I feel like you're just here for Rhamus's handmade potstickers, if I'm being honest."

She rolled her eyes. "Fuck off."

"You have a bit of chili pepper on your face." Darren pointed out, fighting for his life to keep from laughing. "Saving that for later?"

Unlike him, she remained unaffected. "Yeah. I am, actually. Don't touch it."

"Don't worry, I know better."

Darren spent the entire week of her visit fighting the compulsion to pick up a pencil and write a(nother) letter to Mr. Crepsley. But he restrained himself. Harkat was the only one who could be bothered to communicate, so when Gracie headed back for the mountain, a letter to Harkat was all Darren sent with her.

Back in the present, Darren still pondered as if it was yesterday: a second consecutive letter to his one-time mentor would've been overkill. He was right to let the opportunity pass. Right?

This downward spiral of what-if, why-not, and where-are-they-now would inevitably carry on until he fell into a restless sleep or was called back to reality. He tried to refocus his attention on the journal entry he'd abandoned mid-sentence, but he couldn't see the page past the parade of familiar faces that kept looping through his mind. Back in his current reality, a large hand on his shoulder brought him down to earth.

"I have good news." Mr. Tall announced as he materialized beside the picnic table. Noting the way Darren jolted, his black-toothed mouth curved into a frown and he added, "My apologies. I did not mean to startle you. Is everything alright?"

Darren recovered quickly. Didn't he always? He shot Mr. Tall a reassuring grin. "Everything's fine. I was just… deep in thought. What's the good news?"

"The Avalon Theatre has once again booked us to perform in the third week of December. We will celebrate Festivus in high style." Mr. Tall addressed the group of assorted staff and performers that had clustered around the fire, eliciting cheers and applause. Darren was no exception. Located on a picturesque island accessible only by ferry, the Avalon Theatre was one of his favourite places to visit on tour. A festive spin on their standard performance was a crowd-pleaser guaranteed to bring in an audience even in the worst weather. With that, the Cirque would conclude its tour for the year and take a break to celebrate Festivus as a free-for-all in which everyone partook in whatever holiday traditions suited them.

"The Avalon Theatre is one of the most spacious venues we've had the luxury of performing in." Mr. Tall continued. "So I encourage all of you to take this opportunity to extend complimentary invitations to any of your friends or family members whom you wish to share this very special performance with."

Darius, who'd been making s'mores with the three Von kids, immediately caught Darren's eye across the campfire and grinned in excitement. Darren knew exactly what he was thinking; they'd invite Dermot and Angela Shan, as well as Annie, her husband Callum (who knew all the family lore and had never once flinched), and their three-year-old twins, Robbie and Eleanor. The Shan Clan was well overdue for a family reunion. They could even stay with the Cirque for Christmas and make a whole week of it.

Mr. Tall left a stack of VIP invitations and envelopes on the picnic table within Darren's reach before sitting down in an empty chair by the fire. Darren grabbed two invitations and addressed one to his parents. A second for Annie. And after a brief hesitation, a third for Mr. Crepsley. What better opportunity to reach out? But he couldn't very well invite Mr. Crepsley and not Harkat, so he made up a fourth.

Then something strange happened. He'd later blame it on the mug of mulled wine he'd been sipping, because that was easier than putting the blame where it truly belonged: the gaping void that had been left in his heart.

His pencil kept moving, taking his hand with it. He paused only to take a sip of wine. Suddenly an hour had passed. The mug was empty. Hell, the bottle itself had been drained. Who did that? He supposed he had no one to blame but himself. Everyone else had gone to bed. It was just Darren, and a stack of no less than thirteen carefully labelled envelopes in front of him:

A. & D. Shan.

A. & C. Shan-McGavin (& Twins)

Quartermaster L. Crepsley.

H. Mulds.

D. & A. Hemlock-Burgess.

S. Nile.

G. Smahlt-Ver Leth.

Sire V. March.

Sires. M. & K. Smahlt-Ver Leth.

Sire Arrow.

Elder G. Harst.

Elder S. Astor.

Elder T. Otazu.

Games Master V. Blane.

Games Master K. Hale.

Ambassador-General R. Azerion.

Darren marvelled at his handiwork for a minute; a physical manifestation of his one Christmas wish, to gather everyone together in the same place just once. He'd even sprinkled some gold dust in each envelope; a fun festive surprise for the recipient. If they were half as excited to receive these invitations as he was to send them, it was worth it. And surely they would be. Right?

The truth of the matter landed on Darren's stitched-up psyche like a back of anvils as he realized: what a stupid idea. Only a naive child would think all those ancient, bloodthirsty nightwalkers would make the journey for such a frivolous reason. Besides, if Mr. Crepsley, of all vampires, couldn't even be bothered to check in to see if he was still alive, why would any of the others? Thank the gods he'd caught himself before taking this too far.

Darren picked the first two envelopes out of the pile — the ones for his biological family — then threw the rest into the fire. Then he stalked back to his van without a backwards glance. He had no idea Mr. Tall was watching him from the window of his camper van a few yards away. No idea Mr. Tall shook his head, tutted to himself, and stared directly at the fire as it devoured the invitations upon which Darren had laboured so carefully. No idea the fire blazed bright purple for a split second, then back to orange. No idea the invitations were gone.

And no idea Mr. Tall smiled to himself.

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THE NEXT NIGHT

THE CABIN BY THE SEA (the front door, to be specific)

"Kurda, the flag on the mailbox is up."

"That means there's mail in it, love."

"Why would there be —"

"Mail in the mailbox? Gosh, that's a thinker."

"Well, considering everyone we know is telepathic —"

Kurda arched up on his tiptoes to silence Mika with a swift kiss as they stood by the small window in the front door. Then Kurda put his boots on and slipped out to retrieve the contents of the mailbox upon which he'd carefully painted The Smahlt-Ver Leths several months ago. The bright yellow paint had held up well against the harsh weather that came with seaside living, but it was more for aesthetic than identifying purposes. They really didn't get mail. Mika really didn't want mail, unless it was pertaining specifically to the holiday bake sale at the community centre down the road. Speaking of which, the wintery chill in the air meant that couldn't be far off.

"It's not the bake sale." Kurda informed him as he returned a moment later.

"What's the point of the mailbox, then?" Mika growled. Admittedly it was hard to begrudge the universe for this letdown when he had the privilege of watching his rosy-cheeked Kurda shake the snowflakes out of his shimmering platinum hair and roll this big blue eyes as if Mika was talking utter nonsense. And maybe he was. Mika had already forgotten what he'd been complaining about.

Kurda's elegant features adopted a quizzical scrunch as he examined the square red envelope in his hands. Then he grinned. "It's from Darren!"

"How do you know? It's only got our names on it."

"Because I recognize his handwriting." Kurda wasted no time tearing into the envelope to withdraw what seemed to be a postcard… and about a quart of glittering gold dust.

"I'm going to execute him next time I see him." Mika remarked, glancing down at the gaudy shrapnel that was now all over the floor, his boots, and the doormat.

Kurda raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "You legally cannot do that, remember? It was a whole thing."

"I'll make it look like an accident." Said Mika.

Knowing better than to waste time taking that seriously, Kurda placated Mika with an oh-you glance and began to read aloud from the postcard:

"The Cirque Du Freak cordially extends you a VIP invitation to a very special performance on the 22nd of December as we conclude this year's tour by celebrating Festivus! Featuring the talents of — "

Kurda went on to read the whole list of professional freaks as he wandered back to the living room and settled comfortably into his favourite corner of the couch. Mika followed suit, pulling the well-loved quilt across both of them. The harsh night wind was picking up by the second, whipping handfuls of ice pellets at the windows. They'd recently returned from a long trek to meet up with some Generals (Princes never truly take vacations) and were relieved to have beat the bad weather. Tonight would be a night for hunkering, hot drinks, and viciously competitive chess matches that ended in rough sex. Mika rested his head on Kurda's shoulder and took a glance at the invitation.

There it was, second from the bottom. He saw it at the exact moment Kurda read it aloud:

"Darren & Darius Shan and their spectactular spider conga!" Kurda laughed as he said it, and rightfully so because it sounded ridiculous. "Wow. That sounds… right up his alley. Good for him."

"Hmm. So that's what he's up to these nights." Mika remarked, trying to keep a somewhat straighter face than Kurda. "Can't say I'm surprised. Like master, like apprentice. Clownery always did run in Larten's blood. Although I don't know how it got there. Seba's always been perfectly functional."

Kurda reached up to run his palm absent-mindedly along Mika's cheek as they sat curled up together, and added, "Look, we're also invited to the Festivus Feast afterwards! I hope Rhamus is cooking his famous potstickers. It'd be worth working for the Cirque just to access those."

"Oh. So we are going to this." Mika deadpanned. "Right. Sorry. That should've been immediately obvious."

Kurda rolled his eyes, tossed the invitation onto the coffee table, and swung his legs up onto the couch so he was practically in Mika's lap.

"What does he even need us there for?" Mika wondered aloud.

"He doesn't need us for anything. He wants us there." Said Kurda.

Mika exhaled a soft chuckle of resignation as he wrapped both arms around Kurda's lithe frame and kissed his temple. "Makes even less sense when you put it that way."

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SOME SWAMP SOMEWHERE

"Vancha, dear, don't you think you should save some beets for your brother?"

"Why should I spare concern for him? I'm practically withering away from lack of meat! Only the strong survive. If Gannen wants more beets, he can simply —" Vancha's declaration was brought to an abrupt halt by Gannen doing exactly what Vancha was about to suggest: reaching across the table and spearing his fork through one of the roasted beets on Vancha's plate.

All Evanna could do was smirk as Vancha retaliated by grabbing Gannen's arm and twisting it upwards, allowing Vancha to take a bite out of the beet. Beneath the table, Gannen shoved Vancha's chair with his foot, sending his brother shooting backwards. But not for long. He sprang back like a wildcat. And so began the brawl. While wise men and noble leaders in their own right, something about going back to their roots brought out the feral little boy in both of them.

Evanna would never admit how thoroughly she enjoyed having them home for a visit, even though they never stayed long. There was so much work yet to be done. Knowing they had each other backs was enough. And in having each other's backs, their respective clans were stronger than ever. Two were well on their way to becoming one.

One of her frogs was hopping towards the table. That was strange. They usually kept to their pond. But this one was hopping with great purpose — she was carrying what appeared to be a piece of paper. An envelope.

Evanna crouched to accept the envelope while Vancha and Gannen wrestled obliviously nearby. It was then she realized it wasn't just an envelope. It was two. A smile spread across her face. The handwriting on the envelope wasn't that of brother's, but the envelopes were that unmistakeable shade of red. These were fresh from the Cirque Du Freak.

"Boys!" She barked, clapping loudly to get their attention as they stood back up and dusted themselves off. "Smarten up! You've both got mail!"

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VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN

Larten had never been one to indulge in a cozy lie-in. Despite having awoken an hour earlier than typical, he rose immediately from his coffin to get dressed for the night ahead. Just because all was quiet in Vampire Mountain didn't mean the Quartermaster got to sit still for long. More out of habit than necessity, he stoked his ensuite fireplace as he always did. The embers had burned low while he was asleep, but there was still life to them. More than he could've possibly anticipated.

He'd already turned away to don his signature red cloak when he heard the flames produce a sharp crackle that was far louder than it should've been. He pivoted just in time to see the flames turn from bright purple back to orange as a small object erupted from within — an envelope.

Larten plucked the envelope from the air with every bit of the swift dexterity he employed during his Quicksilver-era card tricks. He was already smiling because he already knew what it was. He'd recognize those deep scarlet envelopes anywhere. Admittedly the pile of gold glitter that exploded from the envelope was a new addition since he'd last worked with the Cirque, but within seconds he paid no heed to the shimmering dust that now covered his floor. In several short weeks from now, he was going to see his young apprentice again.

Finally.

It didn't take long to find Seba. He was occupying his usual spot in the Hall of Khledon Lurt. In front of him, a steaming bowl of bat broth. Beside him, Harkat Mulds. Both appeared to be in high spirits, and eagerly waved Larten over as he approached.

"Good evening, Seba. Harkat." Larten greeted both of them as he took his seat on the other side of the table. He saw no reason to beat around the bush and launched immediately into the first and only order of business that mattered here and now: "Seba, I trust you remember the promise you made several years ago; when you officially appointed me Quartermaster?"

Seba's eyes had seen more than most could comprehend, but still they glimmered with the mischief and vivacity of a young man as he gave that some thought. "Hmmm. Are you referring to my promise to never let you get too full of yourself? That I vowed to go to any lengths to keep you humble?"

Larten sighed, but managed a thin smile at that. "For that, I am forever in your debt. However I am referring to a different promise. The one where you assured me you would be willing to temporarily reprise your role as Quartermaster if pressing business ever called me away from Vampire Mountain."

"Ah, yes. That one." Seba winked. "Rest assured the offer will stand as long as I do."

"Well, the time has arrived to take you up on it."

"Indeed? When are you planning on leaving?"

"In three weeks' time. Darren has sent me a highly exclusive invitation to enjoy a special Cirque performance, and I feel it is high time to see how he has been faring since we last — what is so funny?"

It quickly became apparent why Seba and Harkat looked so chipper. Both reached into the pockets of their robes, and in perfect unison they both withdrew identical copies of the invitation Larten received. Larten's heart sank like a stone. So much for taking time off.

He thought he hid his disappointment well, but Harkat's wide green eyes didn't miss much.

"Do not… worry. We can… all go… together." Said Harkat, reaching across the table and patting Larten's arm. "Vampire Mountain will be… just fine… without a Quartermaster… for a little while. The three of us… will not… be missed too much. Besides, Sire Arrow… is currently… in residence. He will… grant you leave… and keep everything… in order… while you are gone."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A booming laugh pulled Larten's attention back to the doorway. He turned in his seat to see the right honourable Sire Arrow strolling up the main aisle of the Hall of Khledon Lurt, flanked by Co-Games Masters Kaden Hale and Vanez Blane. All three of them were holding red envelopes and spattered with a combination of blood and that same gold dust. Who allowed that?! Had Hibernius lost his mind?

"Hey, Larten!" Arrow bellowed with great excitement, holding his envelope aloft and brandishing it like a flag. "Look what we all found in our weaponry lockers after our sparring session just now! Appeared there as if by… well, I suppose it was magic, knowing that Tall fellow. Guessing you've already found yours, aye?"

"The lettering on mine was even indented into the paper so I could read it with my fingertips." Vanez added as he took a seat beside Larten while Arrow and Hale sat on the other. "Darren really did think of everyone. May the gods forever smile upon young Sire Shan."

Larten managed a tight smile in return, then remembered Vanz couldn't see it, and replied, "Yes, he always has been ahead of the curve in that regard. It is so typical of the boy to try to include everyone."

"You say that like it's a character flaw." Hale remarked, earning laughter from the others. Even Seba. Especially Seba.

"Nonsense." Larten huffed. "But still, please do not feel pressured to accept the invitation. It is a lengthy journey just to watch one performance."

Arrow waved a huge hand dismissively. "Pffft. It's not as if I have anything better to do, especially with the Stone of Blood out of the Mountain. I'm overdue to stretch my legs. Besides, Vancha and Mika probably got invitations too. Wouldn't mind catching up with them."

"I cannot picture Mika accepting an invitation to this event." Said Larten.

"He will if Kurda has anything to say about it." Young Grace Smahlt-Ver Leth remarked, appearing behind Larten. "I found my invitation too, by the way. This might be Darren's most ambitious scheme yet. But he's nothing if not a sucker for family Christmas."

While others snickered in agreement, Larten sighed and massaged his temples. He hadn't even noticed her slip over to their table from where she'd been drinking with the other newbloods on the other side of the room. Had Darren invited everyone he'd ever met?

Yes. Of course he had.

"We can all… travel together… as long as… someone is… willing to… carry me." Said Harkat with a wheezy chuckle. "Otherwise… I may not… make it… til next year."

Arrow volunteered himself for that job while Hale pledged to help guide Vanez for the flit. Seba, ever the practical one, began to brainstorm potential routes that would present minimal difficulties for such a large group flitting all at once. Larten sipped silently from his mug of blood while marinating in the harsh truth that Darren didn't necessarily want him there, and it was far more likely he felt it would be rude not to invite him.

"I must decline the invitation. It would not be proper for the Quartermaster to desert the mountain while so many other crucial figureheads are absent." Larten told Seba after breakfast was over and everyone else had moved on to their regular nightly activities.

"Larten! Don't be absurd!" Seba protested. "Of course you can still go. There is no rule anywhere that states the Quartermaster is sentenced to permanent imprisonment!"

"It is my duty to mind the Mountain til my last breath. I took an oath."

"Then I will stay in your place! Out of the lot of us, you are the one who most deserves to be there."

Larten started shaking his head before Seba even finished speaking. How foolish he'd been to indulge in such whimsy, even just for an hour. Darren was a man now. He had no need of a mentor. If the others wished to partake in this frivolous excursion, that was their choice. Larten did not need to celebrate Festivus or Christmas.

"Worry not for me, Seba. I bid you all a safe journey. Rest assured I will be just fine here. I am certain his world is better without me in it. Besides, his human parents will certainly be in attendance. I have no business there."

Seba's face fell, but he knew better to try to negotiate with Larten once his mind was made up. And they spoke no more about it.

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I am unfortunately not telepathic, so please leave a comment if you had fun at today's session. I'll have fun here either way, but I'll have more fun if I have tangible evidence you're having fun too.