| Summer Series 2002: The Journey of the Fool Story the 9th ~ The Hermit By Kuzibah |
| Disclaimer: Spike is not mine, more's the pity. Spoilers: For "Grave." Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. ******************* ~ Lourdes, France Spike pounded on the steering wheel in frustration as he pulled into the visitors' lot at Our Lady of the Wilderness Church in Lourdes, one of the top religious destinations in Europe. He should have stopped twenty miles back, but he'd gotten confused converting kilometers to miles, and now it was almost sunrise. In another hour the town would be filling with tourists and pilgrims. There were more churches here than Sunnydale, not to mention shrines, roadside chapels, stone crosses every five yards, and shops selling religious artifacts and souvenirs. It was a vampire war zone, and he was behind enemy lines. And the hearse he was driving was more of a liability here. It would attract curious onlookers who would no doubt peer through the windows to spot the unfortunate in need of prayer. But where could he take refuge? A deserted church might be okay, but all the churches in town would fill for every mass, fill with believers waving their rosaries and flinging about holy water with ruthless abandon. Spike quit the car and cast about helplessly, trying to determine which direction would be safest from sunlight the longest, and wondering if he should just run for the woods and hope for the best, when he spotted a man exiting his shop two blocks away. Spike blinked in surprise. The man was as out of place as a flamingo in the arctic, wearing the dark coat, black hat, prayer shawl and beard that clearly identified him as an Orthodox Jew, here in the most Catholic city in France. And in the first pre-dawn light, Spike read the sign that hung over the street: H. Perlman, Kosher Butcher. It almost seemed like the answer to a vampire's prayer, if Spike thought anyone were listening, and he was not about to ignore such an obvious gift. He hurried up the street towards the shop. "Good morning, Sir," he called in French. The butcher nodded to him in greeting. I just need to talk my way inside, Spike thought frantically. Once inside, I have some breathing room, but the sun is way too close to up just now. "I was wondering, would it be possible to use your phone?" Perlman gave Spike a hard, appraising look. "Please?" Spike went on. "I've had some car trouble..." he gestured back over his shoulder "...and I need to call a friend of mine." Perlman's expression didn't change, so Spike switched directions. "I have this rare condition, the sunlight causes horrible burns..." "Do I look stupid, vampire?" the human said. "Do you think I can be a butcher for fifty years and not know those who come for the blood?" Spike swore under his breath. "Alright. You've caught me," he said aloud. "But I�m not like other vampires. I won't hurt you, but I'm in trouble." "So you're a 'good' vampire?" "Not yet," Spike admitted. "But I'm trying to be." He glanced nervously at the sky. "I could have just killed you here, but I didn't," he said. "Doesn't that mean something?" "Two seconds ago you told me you were sick and had car trouble to get inside the house," Perlman countered, "and now I'm supposed to give you the benefit of the doubt because you didn't go so far as to murder me in the street?" "Please," Spike begged again. "I don't have to come into the house. If you've a shed, or a barn?" Perlman gave Spike a very shrewd look. "There's the ice house," he said. "It's for aging the meat. It's cold, and dark, and you'd be in with the beef that's not ready to be butchered yet. Would that be acceptable?" "Yes, anything," Spike said, and Perlman led him to a brick structure with a heavy wooden door. Most of the ice house was underground, with stone stairs leading down from the doorway. With one last glance at the lightening sky, Spike hurried down. There were hollows worn down on each of the steps from decades of use, and when Perlman slammed the door shut, trapping him in darkness, Spike lost his footing and tumbled down the remaining steps to the floor. The butcher hadn't lied. It was cold inside, and even as Spike climbed to his feet he could feel the chill working into his flesh, his bones. Without a source of body heat himself the temperature would take its toll; he could feel himself slowing down already, his system beginning to enter a protective sleep state. The first time this had happened he'd been turned less than two years. He and the rest of his vampire family had been traveling through Scotland when they'd been caught in a sudden snowstorm. The cold had overtaken him so suddenly he'd actually fallen off his horse, and Angelus had had to pick him up and drape him across his own horse's saddle. Later, he'd instructed the fledgling vampire to feed more often in the winter months, to keep fresh blood in his veins. Good advice, barring certain circumstances. Spike wondered what Angel did in the wintertime. Oh. Right. He lived in Los Angeles and never had to beg to hide in an icehouse from a man who would probably kill him later. And here was new low: envying Angel. Spike pushed his way through the hanging carcasses until he found the back corner, then crouched down, his back against the slick, stone wall. ~:~:~ He awoke several hours later with the light from a flashlight in his face and struggled into consciousness. �What�s wrong with you?� he heard the butcher�s voice ask from somewhere in the darkness. �I haven�t been eating,� Spike stammered through chattering teeth. �Why didn�t you kill me?� �I told you,� Perlman said, pressing a pewter stein full of cow�s blood into Spike�s hands. �I know all the vampires in this part of the country. They can�t eat the people, all devout Catholics, but they don�t want to leave. They have power here. I see you, I figure they have a new recruit, and if anything happens to you, they�ll come after me.� Spike drained the stein he held with shaking hands. �I appreciate the consideration,� he said, �but you�re wrong all the way round. I�m just passing through.� Perlman looked surprised. �Then why did you let me lock you in the ice house?� �I had no choice,� Spike said, draining the blood. �It was almost dawn, and there wasn�t anyplace in town� Do you have some more of this, please?� He extended the stein back to Perlman. �Yes, plenty,� Perlman said, eyeing Spike with new suspicion. �But why come to me at all? Why not go to the other vampires?� �As I said last night, I�m not like other vampires. I� I have a soul. They�d know right away and kill me. Or worse. Has the sun gone down yet?� �An hour ago,� Perlman said. �And how did you come to have a soul, vampire?� �It�s a long story,� Spike said. �But I do, and I won�t hurt you, and thanks for the blood and shelter but I really have to go.� �Go? You can�t even stand.� �Yeah, well, I was kind of hoping you�d help with that, too,� Spike said. Perlman reached out a hand and pulled Spike to his feet, then half-carried him up the stairs. Emerging into the hot, humid air, Spike began shivering and leaned against the ice house wall for several minutes as the chill worked out of him. �Thank you,� he said when he was able to speak again. �Follow me,� the butcher said, leading him to the back room of the shop, then, �please come in,� as he entered. Spike stepped in behind him, amazed. Perlman gestured to a low vat in the middle of the room that was half-full of blood. �Take all you want,� he said. Still mute with amazement, and still holding the pewter stein, Spike began dipping out blood and drinking it as quickly as he could. Cold and stagnant as it was, it relieved the hunger Spike had felt since first arriving in Spain. He drank until his stomach began to cramp. �Why..?� was all he managed to say. Perlman shrugged. �I believed your story,� he said. �I know about the soulless; I saw them devastate France as a child. I know about sheltering those in need, too. I was hidden for my own protection, and I vowed I would help whoever I could in the future.� He handed Spike a damp towel, one of several draped on a metal rail to dry. The vampire took it and cleaned his face and hands as best he could. �So, I took a chance,� Perlman said, shrugging again. �And so far, it seems I was right.� �Thank you,� Spike said, his voice a little shaky. Later, back on the road, he realized he�d been nearly undone by simple gratitude, gratitude for an ice-cold bunker and some tepid blood. Things were certainly changing, he thought, and he wasn�t sure he liked it. Go on to the next part - The Wheel of Fortune Main Menu ~ Return to Summer Series 2002 Menu |