jwaneeta

****

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 for travelers?" Spike shifted his burden 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, lifted his chin, 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 forward, 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."

Andrew bit his lip.

“Supper,” clarified Lucero. “Supper to eat.”

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 honored Spike. 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 is good at making friends."

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 nodded, 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. “Thanks.”

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.

“You are from el norte,” said Lucero politely, passing a gray soup with difficulty and spilling half. “It is good you have all your pieces. Terrible about the apocalypse, terrible.”

“Yeah, that one sucked,” grunted Spike.

“Spike helped win it,” said Dana. “Evil things hate him because he’s so good. But if they met him they would start to care. ”

“Do you have electricity?” asked Andrew in haste, because Spike was gazing at Dana with real alarm.

“What is that?” asked Lucero.

After supper Lucero 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, clasping his tiny hands. "Then it is yours, my beloved 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. "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 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?"

"Okay, comprendo, we've seen worse. And brave desperate trios in exile can't be choosers. But we can't just trust --"

Spike turned sharply, his expression 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 out." He pulled a hand over his face, looking abruptly drained. "I've sick of the pair of you, anyway. I didn't sign on for this. Go on, get lost."

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

Dana moved to Andrew's side and 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. "We want to stay," she added. "It's good."

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

Andrew winced as a drop of wax seared his hand. "Wait. Where are you going?"

"They gotta fine crypt under the altar," muttered Spike, retreating with a heavy step.

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

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

"Ha," said Spike, sourly mimicking Lucero. "Crypts are for honored vampires. Go to your beds, precious little children, and sleep on sheets." He waved offhandedly, once, before disappearing into the shadows beneath the church.

****

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, and the high banks flamed under their fringe of thorn.

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

****

The mournful chords of a pipe organ drifted from San Santiago. The melody carried over the bristling dunes, pulsing and fading in the gusting wind: something old and faintly spooky, something Gregorian. Adoro Te Devote, maybe.

Spike sat beneath a twisted cottonwood watching the sky. The hard blue dome of heaven was a world unto itself in the desert, an endlessly changing panorama of clouds, all of them distinct as human faces. Tiny discrete puffs rode the high reaches without change, while closer to earth majestic piles of thunder glowered over the mesas in constant motion, boiling, rising, pulling themselves apart.

"How're you doing with it?" asked Angel, toying with a stick, picking at the bark. "Holding up okay?"

Spike tipped his head to look at him. "Well, what do you know. A visitation. Wasn't expectin' that treatment, somehow."

"I thought I should. It's going to be different for you."

"Yeah, I got that."

"Just ride it out, Spike," said Angel gently. "Try going with things, for once. Let it happen. There's nothing to be scared of."

That made Spike want to close his eyes, but looking at Angel was better, somehow. Angel was wearing his usual stupid clothes, but he looked easeful and happy, sitting in the dappled shade of the cottonwood tree. Spike rubbed his chin. "If I asked you what it was like, would you tell me?"

"Sure."

"I don't think so."

"Ask. I'll tell you."

"No, you won't," retorted Spike, suddenly angry -- and angrily satisfied -- that he'd caught Angel out. "It doesn't work that way. Proves you're a sodding phantom, so piss off."

"I came for you, and I'll come back, as often as it takes."

"Don't do me any favors, ya dumb figment."

Angel smiled patiently. "You've got a little time. Try to tie things up, if you can. And take it easy with Dana, okay? Stay clear of that one, Spike."

"You're still bent. She's a kid. I'd never."

"You sure?"

Spike snorted disdainfully.

"Good man." Angel stuck his twig into the sand and rose. The sunlight danced through the leaves, made a perfect halo for his head. "Just keep your nose clean and don't worry so much, Spike. I'll come back."

"Stick around," said Spike. "Hang out. I'm sorry I called you a figment."

"I'll come back," said Angel, reaching down as if to touch him in benediction.

Spike flinched back and woke in the ringing silence of the crypt. The air was cool and damp in his laboring lungs, and he could hear a tiny rattle there, next to the burning thing that had once been his heart.

Spike pulled himself up to sit, legs dangling over the side of the carved marble tomb. He ran a hand through his hair, head low, as Andrew trotted down the stairs with a candle.

"Spike, you need to see this," squeaked Andrew.

"I already have," sighed Spike, but followed him anyway.

****

The vampires were ranged across the esplanade -- carrying torches, the dirt-brained twerps -- and shouting in livid, wrathful voices.

"Bah!" yelled Lucero, from the choirloft window. "Do your worst, estupidos! This is a human house now, you maggots, you creeping motherless vermin. Go sleep in the sand, and choke on the sand, like the turtles and ants you are!"

A vampire hurled a torch. It burst against the encasement as Lucero ducked. ”They have been asking for you," he said, noticing Spike.

Spike moved to the window. He found it difficult to look at Dana, who was staring avidly down at the square, hands clasping and unclasping. He felt his temper, always chancy, beginning to fray.

"What'd'you fuckers want now?" hollered Spike.

His voice was greeted with screams of rage. The vampires danced in fury, shaking their fists, roaring in Spanish.

"They say you are a murdering traitor and a dog's rectum," translated Lucero composedly. "They are very upset about their sire. They are unhappy with me also."

"Tough!" bellowed Spike.

"They want you to come down and fight like a vampire. They say, if you coveted this lair, you should have won it honorably."

"Tell them I'll be happy to dust all their arses, when I get around to it."

"Let's do it now," murmured Dana.

Andrew started. He grasped Dana's shoulder and pulled a tough face. "No. I -- I forbid it. Dana, that's a lot of vampires. Dana. Be cool, okay?


"A lot of vampires," whispered Dana throatily, eyes glittering.

The crowd in the square shrieked like a gale. A tall scarecrow stepped forward from the rest, shouting and jabbing his finger at the observers. To punctuate his harangue he spat onto the ground.

"That one gives his name," Lucero informed Spike. "Eusabio. He says your soul stinks from here, and that you are a slave. He says that you reek of sickness and that your testicles have rotted off." Lucero glanced from Spike to Dana, abashed. "Forgive me, my precious little daughter, that's what he says."

"Then let's kill him," replied Dana.

Eusabio was still yelling. Lucero said: "He says you are weak, honored Spike. He says you will wither and die in a bed, and you deserve it, because you are too cowardly to make a decent end. He says -- "

Spike felt the last of his patience vanish with a pop, like a soap bubble. He did not tarry. He thundered down the winding steps and burst through the massive bronze doors with a howl, skull buzzing as his face shifted.

He charged Eusabio first and they went down together, snapping and snarling epithets. Spike found purchase on Eusabio’s neck, twisted hard, and Eusabio was gone, but there were plenty of others. Dedicated bastards. They were trying to use their torches, and some had axe-hafts, and they didn't seem to give a toss about surviving the fight if they could get a lick in, which made things interesting. Spike dodged and struck, weaving through clouds of ash, and then Dana was there, armed with a chair leg and doing respectable damage.

Spike came to grips with one of the torch-wielders, holding the fire away with a trembling arm as he stared into his adversary's fixed yellow eyes.

"You lose," it rasped, grinning. "All the vampiros de los Juarez, tambien, we die to get you. You lose."

The torch went out with a hiss under a cascade of water. The vampire recoiled like a doused cat, and Spike rammed the handle into its chest, and the fight was over.

Andrew stood by the trough holding a bucket. Dust swirled as Dana danced through it, grinning and stomping her feet. Spike started back toward the church doors.

Dana caught at Spike's arm. "That was a good fight."

"Yeah. That was a good fight."

Dana was radiant, her hair wild about her glowing face. "Will there be more? Of them?"

"I can pretty much promise that," said Spike.

Lucero held the door and bowed Spike in with ceremony. "My good friend," he burbled. "Mi amigo santo. Let us convene in the hall together. Let us smoke a pipe."

****

Andrew brought his tiny DVD player down from the bell tower and set Dana up to watch episodes of Cyborg 009 and Blue Gender.

"Are you mad?" asked Dana, worrying the earphones. "Don't be mad. It's not about me, not anymore. It’s getting different."

Andrew tried to smile. "I know, Dana. I'm not mad. I just get scared for you sometimes. It's a Professor Xavier thing, you know?"

"But that was all true," protested Dana in distress. "Out there. So don't do that, Andrew. You need to be like the Punisher, not like Professor X, because being scared will kill us faster than anything."

"Okay, Dana." She looked so unhappy, which was such a shame after her big victorious battle that Andrew patted her shoulder. "Okay. I'll try."

Spike was dealing cards from a ratty deck as Lucero poured blood from a goatskin bag. Andrew cleared his throat.

"Um, Spike? Can I ask you something?"

Spike weighed Andrew, sighed, and laid down his cards.

They stood together in the hallway, well back from the door, where the night's glow fell onto the cloister tiles. Watching Spike, who stood so still and impassive, Andrew felt a chill settle into his blood.

"Spike," he asked courageously, "do vampires get sick?"

"Nope."

"Do vampires die in bed?"

"Not usually."

Andrew dropped his eyes. "What happened to Angel? What's going on? What is the shanshu, Spike?"

Spike didn't answer right away, and when Andrew looked up Spike was looking at the murky panes of the deep window, as if he could see past it into the clear night beyond.

"It's a reward," said Spike finally, his words quiet and empty. "Ain't that a laugh? It's my soddin' reward."

****

TBC