AN: We're almost done now. Thanks for your patience, everybody. LadyCat and I hope that you enjoyed our story and that it brought some Christmas cheer into your December and – alas – January. We're sorry it took us so long to get to the end, but Real Life has a funny habit of interfering. Thank you for all your encouraging feedback.

December 24 - Part D

There was a marked difference between blowing a person's brains out at point blank range and killing at a distance with the stroke of a pen, or through a spell. A thin line - which, to Ethan's great relief, gun-toting lawyer-boy had pulled back from at the last minute. Apparently young McDonald was not yet jaded enough to do in cold blood what he wouldn't hesitate to do in the heat of anger. Some left-over cowboy ethics, no doubt.

It had been a close call, though. Deep inside, Ethan was more shaken than he cared to admit. For more than a dozen rapid heartbeats, he'd stared death in the eye, or, more specifically, in the barrel, before his employer had lowered his gun and stepped aside. "Alright. Bring the house down. Then get the hell out." And with that Lindsey McDonald had disappeared. Literally.

And now, against all his principles, Ethan was playing cowboy himself, aiming the gun he'd found in Wyndam-Pryce's desk at the dumbest vampire he'd ever met.

Slowly, Harmony turned around, startled when she recognized him.

"Edgar?"

"Ethan Rayne, my dear. I'd give you my card, but…." He shrugged.

"Ethan, right. Ooops, my bad," Harmony replied, smiling sheepishly, completely ignoring the gun he was pointing at her. Her attention seemed to alternate between Ethan and the stacks of presents underneath the tree. "Say, aren't you supposed to be, you know, like bretzeled up in leg-irons and thumbscrews or something? I mean that's what they do with evil warlocks, right?"

"I got bored." Ethan gave her a cold, appraising stare. Shouldn't she be partying her undead little heart out? Did her presence here mean that Angel was nearby, working overtime? He'd broken into Wesley's office, but he hadn't checked Angel's.

"You know I always wanted to thank you. I'm, like, your number one fan," Harmony confessed, almost bouncing. She certainly had the fangirl effusiveness down to a tee.

Ethan was slightly taken aback. "Oh? Do tell."

"It's true. I didn't recognize you at first, but you're the one who created that enchanted candy."

Ethan preened momentarily, then looked confused. "And you remember this. . ."

"Oh, my mom went on an insane shopping spree, buying all these Prada boots and shoes with matching handbags, only when she was back to acting her real age she thought they were too daring and gave them all to me." Harmony's face shone with happiness at the memory. "It was awesome. Better than Christmas. And I have you to thank for it. And the year before that? Halloween? I only just found out that it was your spell that turned me into a super-"

"I'm touched." Ethan interrupted. "I'd love to stay and bask in your admiration, but frankly, I'm on a bit of schedule. Now raise your hands and get away from that tree, if you please." He made a shooing gestured with the hand that held the gun. "Now."

"I'm a vampire. You can't kill me with that," Harmony said, not moving an inch. She did consider vamping out, but decided against it. It always smudged her lipstick.

"So true," Ethan said smoothly. "That's why I'm aiming at your pretty face and not your brains."

"What?"

"I'm counting on your desire to stay pretty. Hands, please?"

"Wow, that's really… wow. Smart, I guess," Harmony pondered, nodding slowly. "And so mean! After what I just told you. I mean, we're both evil, right? Well kinda. Shouldn't there be something like professional courtesy between us or something?"

"Absolutely. Note my use of the word 'please.' Now, my dear, if you'd extend me the same courtesy?"

"Oh, right." She nodded and started to raise her hands, but then she changed her mind and gestured towards her presents. "It's just, is it okay if I pick that up first? I think it's from Spike and-"

"Wouldn't dream of getting between you and him," he lied, giving Harmony's backside a lecherous appraisal when she bent down and swooped up the little jeweler's box. He nervously waited for Harmony to open the box and mendaciously admired the silver unicorn pendant - which he found painfully cheesy but which was greeted with a squeal of happiness. He even allowed vampgirl to fasten the necklace round her neck, before chaining her to the stairs that led up to the gallery, using a pair of handcuffs swiped from the incapacitated security guards in the basement.

Time to concentrate on the summoning. He'd laid the ground work from the moment Lorne dropped his 'this puppy walks free' comment, performing the main ritual in his own apartment, far away from scrutiny. All he had to do now was push open the door to the dark plane and issue an invitation. The final moments were still the hardest. He was sweating by the time the spell was complete, the slow gathering of power always more complicated than a quick smash and grab, especially without a chance to siphon raw power off a party in full swing. Gradually, slowly, he felt the dark entity draw near. There was no swirly portal, no flashy sound or ILM effects, only a dull, rumbling groan, as the dark entity merged with its intended host.

And of course the blaring siren of the security alert, trigged by the unauthorized spell-casting.

Ethan took in Harmony's expression of shock and smiled, feeling victorious. Oh yes, he sure hadn't lost his touch. Now the question was: stay and gloat or high-tail out?

* * *

Eve's unscheduled presence had cast a chill on the festivities and brought all conversation to a grinding halt. After about ten minutes of awkwardness, Lorne decreed that every secret Santa gift had to be bought with an amusing story-a true one-and they were soon laughing in spite of Eve's unwelcome presence.

Fred's slightly too scientific high school anecdote wasn't actually funny, but the garbled delivery was utterly endearing. Even Angel was charmed, particularly when she ooed and ahhed over the Mexican cookbook that proclaimed the best, fastest, and tastiest way to make tacos known to man. It was obvious from Gunn's smug expression that he was the buyer, though Fred was very careful to keep her thanks directed at her general 'secret Santa' and not anyone in particular.

To earn what turned out to be a tastefully wrapped facsimile edition of The Original Illustrated Strand Sherlock Holmes, Wesley - on his third glass of wine - told a story about how he once won three demon slave girls at a game of darts. The lewd teasing that followed made him flush, but the story about returning the girls - without taking them up on their, ahem, skills- was just as hilarious and got him over the self-conscious fidgeting quickly. Spike smacked him on the shoulder before reaching for his own gift, saying, "That's what you do with three girls? Give'm back? You got a lot to learn, young Padawan."

"Right," Spike continued when he pulled out a button-down blue T-shirt. "Got two possible choices for this, and Angel, if you sodding well bought me clothes. . ." Fred snickered, which immediately pegged her as the buyer, and Spike imperceptibly softened. "Not wearing it, mind," he announced at large. "But, well, blue's not a bad color. Not as good as red, though."

"Pay your fine," Santa Lorne commanded.

"Well, since red is such a good color, gonna tell you about a demon named Sweet." That very heavily edited account of Sunnydale Sings! bled into Gunn telling Fred and Spike, since the others knew already, about the first time Angel had to sing for Lorne.

"That's not a personal story," Angel grumbled, but since he'd already opened his woolen socks, he figured he was owed the humiliation. Gunn, meanwhile, crowed over the basketball-hoop-trashcan combo, immediately tagging Wesley as the buyer and slapping him on the shoulder in thanks.

"This is perfect," he laughed. "Just what I wanted. Thanks, man!"

Lorne pulled out the final present, a small inexpertly wrapped parcel, and stared at it in some surprise. "Did we miss someone? Who's this one for?" Without waiting for an answer, Lorne read the name-tag attached and did a double-take. "For me? But I'm the Santa!"

"Oh, open the bloody thing already," Spike grumbled, half smug, half self-conscious, earning himself several surprised looks.

Still slightly shell-shocked, Lorne unwrapped two CD's. The artwork was obviously amateur, and the CD's, when removed from the case, had been burned on a home computer, but the way Lorne stared at them belied their unprofessional appearance. "Are these who I think they are?"

Gunn picked up the second CD. "Want to fill us in?"

"These are two of the hippest and hottest underground bands out there," Lorne said with mounting enthusiasm. "They-"

A sickeningly familiar siren warbled through the party, a female voice calmly announcing that a spell was being performed on the fourth floor. Wesley and Angel barely had enough time to look at each other and say, "Ethan," before a subharmonic growling interrupted them.

* * *

The private elevator that connected the penthouse suite with Angel's office clearly wasn't built for seven people. It took considerable shuffling until they'd all squeezed in. The ride down lasted only two minutes or so, but it seemed to take longer, much longer, especially to those with a propensity to breathe.

"Let's just hope we don't get a power failure," Spike said gleefully, relishing the way Eve blanched at the thought.

As it happened the elevator did not get stuck but safely delivered them all into Angel's office, where they were greeted by shrill screaming and loud thwacking noises. Both sounds emanated from the lobby, but because the windows were set on opaque, it was impossible to identify their source. However, behind the milky panes a dark looming shape could be seen, moving. Angel was the first to rip open the door and storm out into the lobby.

Spike and Wesley weren't far behind, the latter pulling a gun from his jacket pocket. However, their target looked impervious to bullets:

Instead of Lorne's Christmas tree, a huge and imposing mass of roots and branches, about four or five times the mass of the former pine tree was writhing and swaying in the lobby, as if under the effect of a strong breeze. If it weren't for the ever-burning candles and the red and silver Christmas decorations - now in disarray - one would never have believed that this could be the same tree. The trunk was much thicker now and more gnarled. The tree's roots had grown out of the beautiful terracotta pot, had, in fact, punched several holes into the vessel, causing black earth to spill on the floor. Dark and twisted, these roots were moving and crawling across the floor like snakes, trying to burrow into the ground. They had already managed to worm their way underneath the wooden parquet and were now busily trying to furrow through solid concrete - with disconcerting success. Higher up, a twisted tangle of thick black branches was whipping through the air like tentacles.

The screams were issuing from two different sources. For one thing the tree seemed to have grown a big maw, which it used to screech loudly. The shriller screaming, the one that was peppered with insults and curses, came from Harmony, who was holding on to the handrail of the stairs with both hands, while a branch that had wrapped itself round one of her feet was trying to pull her towards the gaping tree-maw.

"Oh bugger," Spike said, voicing what everybody was thinking.


TBC