jwaneeta

So, the joke is: that's actual WB interoffice memo paper. Or was, back in the late 90s. (I bet they have another design now, the soul-dead, cheating, blind, parsimonious motherf***ers!! Ahem. I'll presume this will never cost me a job in the hazy future because LJ is totally anonymous.) I scanned it and added the message, and of course you can't tell from nothing about the logo or lines. *sighs*

But it's way genuine, okay? Which more than makes up for my pitiful icon-making. Feh.

I just deleted a lot of stuff about the WB because... (yikes)

*waves* Hey! Pluggage! Over here, and on sale at the end of the month, vaguely! I'm the one who drew FanBase for Keith Giffen. Please buy it.

http://www.komikwerks.com/

Oh, and a writeup in Wizard

http://www.komikwerks.com/news.php?id=428

Ronin
Dunno what chapter
R
Spike, Andrew, Dana, post AtS
No spoilers


****

Andrew gazed up at the twin bell towers, pink and luminous against the indigo sky. "I'm not so sure about this, Spike. I mean, it's glowing. It's like Morgan le Fay's Castle of Glorious Lard."

Spike began to pull bags out of the jeep. "Don't be a nelly. Get tough. Jesus, Andrew, cut us a break."

"I have a bad feeling about this. Don't you have a bad feeling about this, Dana?"

Dana shook her head, watching Spike.

"It's a church, Andrew, a bleedin' house of worship. Haven't you ever heard of sanctuary? Haven of travellers?" Spike shifted his burden, stomped up the wide steps and pounded on the green bronze plating of the door. "Oi! We're here! Open up!"

The vast doors parted slowly, swinging wide with groaning hinges and squeaks of sand. Spike disappeared into the inky well beyond the threshold. Dana slipped after him like a shadow.

Andrew cast a yearning glance back at the jeep, sitting so plain and normal and unenscorceled in the creepy glow. Then he squared his shoulders and followed his Slayer.

The air smelled damp, heavy with the ancient ghostly smells of incense and beeswax. Andrew jumped as the doors began to drift shut behind him. He started back, but too late: they met with a rolling boom, extinguishing the sliver of blue moonlight and wrapping him in darkness.

"Welcome, my precious children," said a voice at his elbow.

"Yahhhh!" shrieked Andrew.

A tip of light flared as Spike lit a candle, holding it up to send shadows jumping back in fright among the pews and alcoves. Dana stood half hidden by a pillar to Spike's left, eyes gleaming.

"That's Lucero," said Spike. "Lucero, that's Andrew."

Andrew stared down at Lucero, who appeared to be a mouth balanced on two bristling porcine haunches, and managed not to recoil.

"Hi," said Andrew in a cracking voice.

Four rows of overlapping teeth gleamed in the candlelight. "Welcome to San Santiago, my beloved son. What a blessing on your head, to visit us in our poor mission so far from everything." The creature waved a vestigial pincer. "I have made up the hearth, for humanity, and laid out linen of cloth with the forks."

Spike slapped Andrew on the shoulder. "Brilliant, 'cause we're starved."

Lucero exploded with mirth, a wet hacking wheeze that bounced off the pillars and echoed to the vaulted ceiling. "He makes the jokes without stopping, your vampire friend. Ha! Ha!"

"Ha," agreed Andrew, feeling ill.

"Let's eat," said Spike.

Lucero bounded ahead, leading them from the church into a long gallery, where towering windows of stained glass admitted moonlight through a prism of red, gold and blue. Spike trudged after, head down, holding the candle cautiously. Andrew took Dana's arm.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "Spike makes friends easily."

Dana smiled, her face milky in the strange light.

Lucero's dining hall was a low, timbered room with plaster walls and a fireplace the size of a Honda. The heat from the blaze smacked Andrew like an open hand. He began to sweat.

"Comforting?" asked Lucero hopefully. "Is there relief now? A light shines in the darkness for my tiny beloved children, and the desert is far away. All is well."

"It's fine," said Spike, dropping into a chair.

"Do you like it?" Lucero asked Dana anxiously. "See, there is wine and water."

"Okay," said Dana.

Andrew hastened to pour for her. It seemed wise, since Lucero didn't have much in the way of arms.

Spike lifted a cover from a platter of spitted meat. "Mm, badger," he purred, shooting Andrew a warning look. "Can't beat a good badger."

Lucero leaned forward. "Are you truly going to eat?"

"Hey, I eat," shrugged Spike, tucking in with determination.

"How the world is changed," murmured Lucero.

"I'll just have the bread," said Andrew.

Lucero wriggled onto a chair at the head of the table. Dana reached for a helping of badger and he beamed, showing his horrible teeth. After supper he led his guests on a tour.

"Here is a saint's finger, in a glass case with copper handles, very powerful. And here is a window with a leather latch."

"Sweet," said Spike appreciatively.

"Here at San Santiago there are beds and sheets, my precious children. There is a kitchen garden with a spring. There is a vestry with albs and chausables, worked in silver and gold thread, wrapped in paper. And a tamarind tree."

"It's pretty," said Dana.

Lucero stiffened and peered at her. "Do you like it, my little daughter?"

Dana glanced at Andrew, who had gone cold with foreboding. He shook his head. Then Dana looked at spike, who nodded.

"Yes," said Dana.

Lucero crowed. "Then it is yours, my tiny daughter!” he exulted. “Every tile and beanpole, every brick and pane, from the altar to the troughs to the cellary! The cloister is yours, and the outbuildings, and the barracks of the muleteers long dead. All of San Santiago is thine, my cherished mija, and may you blossom here in the hope you bring your miserable servant." His eyes rolled hopefully at Dana. "You will stay?"

"Okay," answered Dana, after another nod from Spike.

Lucero collapsed and began to sob in deep snuffling gasps.

"Wait," said Andrew. "I don't think we --"

Lucero's great rubbery lips peeled back and dribbled foam with his tears. “Thank you, my children," he wept, scrubbing at his eyes with his withered arms. "Gracias. Glok thutta buhn."

Spike plucked a candle from a sconce and yawned. "Right. That’s settled. Let's go to bed."

"But, Spike --"

Spike took Andrew by the collar and steered him firmly down the hall, away from the weeping demon. "Don't be rude, Andrew," he whispered tightly. "Don't stomp on the poor tosser's happiness. It's cruel and he might bite you off at the knees."

Andrew sighed and lowered his voice, mindful of Dana. "There's something creepy about that guy, Spike."

"Who? That two thousand year old expatriate Bloshu Pig Demon back there? You think?"

"But we can't just --"

Spike turned sharply, his face narrow and pinched in the wavering light. "Goddamn it, if you've got a better idea, there's the fucking door. Take your Slayer and clear off." He pulled a hand over his face, looking abruptly drained. "I'm sick of the pair of you, anyway. Go on."

A wave of remorse washed through Andrew, to see Spike looking so frail and weary. "I'm sorry, Spike. It's a nice mission. And... and Dana likes it."

Dana nodded firmly. Morning was beginning to show through the high windows at the top of the stairway, and Andrew could see an unfamiliar expression in Dana's eyes: worried, focused, concerned.

"Fine," said Spike, pushing the candle at Andrew. "There's cots and shite at the top there, near the ladder to the bell tower. Happy dreams."

"Where are you going?"

"Fine crypt under the altar," muttered Spike, retreating with a heavy step. "Deep."

Dana looked alarmed. "No. We'll go. It’s – I’m – it’s not good, alone."

"I think we should stick together," protested Andrew.

"Go to your beds, precious little children. Crypts are for vampires. Ha," added Spike sourly. He waved once, offhandedly, and was gone.

****

From his high window Andrew watched the sun rise over the blue ramparts of the Sierra Juarez. The first rays touched the walls of the arroyo beneath the mission, making the steep banks flame under their fringe of thorn.

A stream wandered at the bottom of the gully, green as kryptonite in the morning shadows. Andrew watched it for a long time, thinking about Spike's tired face.

TBC


*Subject to major revision*