Chapter 34.

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.

There was a few seconds of shock and confusion after Giles' statement.

"Ethan Rayne has a brother?" exclaimed Xander.

"And, he's here in San Francisco?" added Willow.

"And, what's this Legacy you keep talking about?" demanded Buffy.

"Oh, botheration!" replied Giles: "That's right. I never told you. But, then again; we became so preoccupied with trying to prevent Wilkins' Ascension, it's quite understandable that it might slip my mind."

"And, what _is_ 'it,' exactly?"

Buffy emphasized that second question by sternly criss-crossing her arms. In apparent response to which, Giles removed his glasses and began nervously polishing the lenses.

"It- -uhm!- - involves your Cruciamentum. Had that gone as Travers originally planned, he would have finally authorized me to tell you the full history of the Watchers. Including their originally being created as an intelligence-gathering arm of the Legacy. A secret society reputedly founded, in post-Arthurian Britain, by the erstwhile Sir Lancelot (following his ordination as a Catholic priest) and the Druidess Ganieda. Biological sister of Merlin, himself!"

Xander said it best for all of us.

"Whoa!"

Giles nodded, as he put his glasses back on: "Quite! In any event, the Legacy is divided into regional chapters called Houses. Each one of which is headed by a precept. Derek Rayne is the Precept of San Francisco House. And, the Luna Foundation is a fund-raising front for their primary mission: the collection, confiscation, and storage away, of powerful mystic talismans that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Especially, if those hands belong to Ethan Rayne (who is self-disowned from the rest of his family)!"

MEANWHILE, AT SFPD HEADQUARTERS...

Frank Kohanek answered the vibrational buzzing of his cellphone. He read the caller-ID. Then, he hit the "on" button.

"Yeah, Sonny."

"What've you got for me concerning Ethan Rayne?"

"Well, on paper, he's legit. Works for a Market Street outfit called TJN Investments. But, according to Interpol, he's got quite a rap sheet at Scotland Yard. Mostly, as a con artist! No convictions, though. Now, what can you tell me about this guy Spike?"

"He's one of Angel's grandchildren," replied Sonny Toussaint: "...by a seeress called Drusilla. And, he likes to sport a Billy Idol/David Bowie look. In fact, that alias 'John Blalock' was the name of Bowie's character in THE HUNGER! That vampire-movie with Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve?"

"Figures!" muttered Kohanek: "You think he and Rayne might be working together?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Want to help me roust him?"

"I'd love to."

Whereupon, Frank gave his vampiric partner the Lombard Street address of the so-called "investment counselor."

MEANWHILE, ABOARD THE S.S. VLODNIK. . .

"Well?" Ben Wilkinson called out, over his left shoulder.

"All right! Come on back in."

He obediently re-entered the infirmary. Whereupon, he came to an abrupt stand-still.

"You like?" inquired the brunette formerly known as Cordelia Chase.

She twirled three hundred and sixty degrees. Showing off a bra with silver sequins, a translucent blue skirt, and a tiara studded with pearls. An ensemble that made her resemble an "Arabian Nights" version of Rogers and Hammerstein's "Cinderella." And, in a way that could prompt no other response from the average mortal male except. . . a wolf-whistle.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' "

Before Ben could utter any kind of verbal remark, Captain Skorzeny activated the intercom from the bridge.

"You're Gloriousness! Forgive the interruption. But, the Ropen has arrived from New Guinea."

"About time!" exclaimed Glory: "You! Get my cloak."

She pointed to Ben, who promptly draped a black velvet cape over her shoulders. Tying the drawstrings together just below her throat. Then, bowing the right of way to her, he followed her up on deck, to the aft end of the ship. There, draped across the stern, from the port side to the starboard (in a way that slightly up-ended the ship's bow), was the head and upper neck of a dragon!

Glory promptly climbed atop that neck, just behind its horn-like ears. Instantly conjuring, in Ben's mind, an image of the Wicked Witch of the West mounted on a show-jumping horse.

"Sorry, boys! But, there's only room for me. Have fun on this tub. Because, I'm out of here!"

Whereupon, the dragon spread its scaly wings and flapped them, profusely, before finally getting airborne...and heading eastward.