Chapter 35.

Brother Demetrius noticed that it was getting considerably brighter within the cockpit. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the sun was beginning to rise behind them. So, he notified Sam Lawson to that effect.

"Do you think you will be able to land at our destination before the first rays of light overtake us?" he added.

"Nothing to worry about, padre," replied the vam-pilot: "Not once I've taken my Vitamin D cocktail."

Whereupon, he activated the automatic pilot so he could withdraw a silver brandy flask...and swig from it.

"Ahhhhhhh!" he sighed.

"Is th-that...human blood?!" Brother Demetrius stammered.

"Nahhhhhh! It's sheep's blood, mixed with cod-liver oil and calaguala fern-leaf tea. A Brazilian witch doctor recommended it to me. I don't know how it works, exactly. Or, even if he's the one who invented it! But, it gives Caitiff like me..."

Another momentary swig.

"...the limited solar tolerance of much-older childer."

Sam then re-sealed the flask and put it away.

"How much longer till we reach the airport?" Brother Demetrius now asked.

"We'll were approaching Cape Ann, now. So, at our present airspeed, we should be arriving at Logan about ten to twenty minutes after that."

MEANWHILE, THREE TIME ZONES EARLIER...

According to the San Francisco branch of the California DMV, Ethan Rayne lived in a second floor apartment at 1235 Montclair Terrace. The latter was a cul-de-sac on the northward-facing side of Lombard Street's world-famous switchback segment. Sonny Toussaint parked his car at the Hyde Street intersection and walked upward. Simultaneously, Frank Kohanek walked downward from his parking spot on Leavenworth Street. Together, they walked up towards their target: the last two-story house on the right-hand side of the dead end.

"Man!" whispered Frank: "Can't you even _pretend_ to breath hard?"

Sonny's answering grin was positively shameless: "Sorry! I'm out of practice. You got the warrant?"

Frank nodded: "Signed by a night court judge whose good poker-buddies with Julian."

"Then that's all the invitation we need."

Whereupon, Frank started pounding on the front door (and shouting "Police!" at the top of his lungs), while his vampirized partner went around to the back. A minute later, Frank started shouting again.

"Ethan Rayne! This is the SFPD. Open up! We have a warrant for your arrest."

As anticipated, the expatriate Englishman tried to make a break for it through the rear entrance. And, Sonny was waiting for him.

"Going somewhere, Rayne?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. And, I haven't time to dally. So..."

To Sonny's utter amazement, Ethan Rayne's face adopted the features normally seen on those sired by the Aurelian Order!

Unfortunately, this state of mind delayed him long enough for Ethan to mutter something that sounded vaguely Latin. Following which, Sonny went sailing across the back yard like he had been hit by a giant invisible hand! The garbage cans he landed among naturally attracted Frank's attention. And, as he came running around the upper right-hand corner of the house, he collided with Ethan's out-stretched right arm.

A technique known in professional wrestling as getting 'clothes-lined'.

"Ta-ta, officer!" the vampirized sorcerer mockingly called out, as he ran off into the waning night.

LOGAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT,

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

"Tower? This is Tango Alpha Victor-Eight Bravo. Do you copy? Over?"

"Tower to Eight Bravo. We copy you. Over."

"Tower, have you been notified about the special nature of my passenger? Over?"

"Roger that, Eight Bravo. You are cleared to land at Runway 110. Over."

"Thank you, Tower. This is Eight Bravo. Over and out."

As soon as the control tower had similarly signed off, Sam Lawson once more deactivated the auto-pilot.

"So, we will not have to go through customs?" asked the mystified Greek monk.

Sam smilingly shook his head: "Nope! As far as they're concerned, you're the proud owner of a rare blood type. One badly needed by a certain little girl, in San Francisco, whose organ-donor transplant has been funded by the Luna Foundation. Which is why the latter have used their W.H.O. contacts to give you diplomatic status."

Five minutes later, Brother Demetrius disembarked from the jump-jet and into an ambulance idling ten feet away. Five minutes after that, he was in a private hangar, where he climbed aboard an awaiting Learjet.

Meanwhile, back at the San Francisco Airport Hilton, Buffy, Giles, Xander, and Willow were getting some much needed sleep. With Buffy and Willow sharing the queen-size bed in the master bedroom, while the men-folk got one each of the guest-rooms. Angel and Mick St. John had already left, after the latter had received a cellphone call from Sonny Toussaint. Something about Ethan Rayne proving slippier than anticipated.

Suddenly, Buffy sat bolt upright in bed, screaming at the top of her lungs!

Xander and Giles ran into the master bedroom within moments, to see Willow frantically trying to half-restrain/half-calm the Slayer down with a bear hug.

"A little- - -help- - - here- - -guys?" she pleaded, between struggles.

It was not easy, even with Giles and Xander's combined strength. But, finally, they managed to pin Buffy to the mattress. Even though, she was still convulsing.

"Must- - -warn- - -them," she intoned (with her eyes almost rolling up into her head): "Before- - -they- - -take off."

"Warn who?" Giles urgently whispered: "You mean, the Legacy people in Boston? Warn them of what, Buffy?"

"She's- - -coming- - - for him. The one- - -who holds- - -the Key!"

" 'She?' " echoed Xander: "You mean. . .?"

"Glordelia!" exclaimed Buffy: "Glordelia- - - is personally- - -coming- - -to intercept- - -the Key!"

Then, she fainted from the pain. They listened to her breathing return to a normal rate. Then, Willow looked at the two men.

"Did I hear right? Did she pronounce it 'Glordelia?' "

"Good Lord!" Giles muttered to himself.

Xander nodded: "Just a delirious mispronunciation, you think?"

Giles started polishing his glasses: "I only wish to God it were."

tbc