Chapter 38

SAUSALITO, CALIFORNIA

(5:45 A.M./PST)

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

It took a little while to arrange proper transport for the four of us to Marin County. And, when I say "proper," I mean totally sunless! It was Sonny Toussaint's idea was to call his partner, Frank Kohanek, and arrange for him to "pre-emptively borrow" (as Xander might put it) the rental van used by the Hopping Ghosts during their invasion of the Haven, earlier that night.

He arrived at the office building that housed TJN Investments, around 4:30. He then helped Angel, me, and Sonny into the rear compartment before relaying the keys to Oz (who had a class 2 license for driving his band's Chevy van).

"I can lose the paperwork on this for twenty-four hours," he reminded us: "That's it. In the meantime, I'll take the nearest BART train back to headquarters.* Good luck, guys!"

An hour and a quarter later, we had arrived at Anthea Estates. Named, of course, after Thomas Jerome Newton's homeworld in THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH!

"And I thought Spike's fixation with Billy Idol was bad," muttered Angel.

I grinned for a moment. Then, I asked Oz what the number of "Newton's" condo unit was.

"642. And, for your sakes, we better get a move on. Sunrise ain't that far ahead!"

The rest of us nodded as one. Then, we followed along behind him until we got to the door we were looking for. At which point, Oz went up to it and. . . "unlocked" it. With all the experience of someone whose lead guitarist was incessantly locking his ignition keys in the van, after one too many "medicinal" joints.

"Would you gentlemen like to help me search the premises?" he rhetorically asked.

We did not need to be invited twice.

MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE OVER THE GREAT PLAINS. . .

Kristin Adams of Boston House looked once again, at her fellow passenger.

"Brother Demetrius, could I ask you a question about the Key?"

The Greek monk tilted his head in curiosity, and nodded.

"What does it look like?"

The sole survivor of the St. Ioannes massacre put his chin in the palm of his right hand (a la "Rodin's Thinker"), for a few seconds before replying.

"It has no form as you and I know the word. Yet, neither is it a spirit, in the sense of someone having vacated their physical body following clinical death. I suppose the best description I could give of it would be as a. . . 'sentient primordial energy-being.' "

Kristin's eyes arched wider than an anime character.

"And, this energy-being can really destroy the whole world just from opening an interdimensional portal?"

"Yes and no. The destruction comes not from the act of opening _one_ portal. But, a whole myriad of them, simultaneously!"

"Oh- - -My- - -God," was all Kristin could utter in reply.

Brother Demetrius nodded: "Precisely."

There was a moment or two of stunned silence before Kristin could summon the nerve to ask another question.

"Is there any way to use that energy to send the Key, itself, to someplace this Glory can never lay hands on it?"

Brother Demetrius shook his head.

"The best that can be done," he added: ". . .is to dampen it's energy, somewhat. By giving it corporeal form!"

MEANWHILE, BACK IN SAUSALITO. . .

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

We hurriedly drew the shades down on all the windows. Not only to screen our activities inside, from early bird neighbors. But, also, to keep out the light of the ever-rising sun. Because, like I said before, my inherent solar tolerance is limited.

We then searched the condo unit from top to bottom. Looking for any clue as to where else Ethan Rayne might be hiding out. It was Oz, though, who lucked out. He was searching the master bedroom, in his Glabro form, so as to sniff around like a wolf while still being able to talk like a normal human. And, he called out to us that he might have something. So, naturally, we rushed to join him as only vampires can rush!

He pointed to the closet.

"I'm detecting a faint breeze at floor level. And, not the forced hot air of the ventilation system. This is a cool breeze. . .coming from outside,"

So, I opened the closet door and started handing out hangar loads of clothes to the others. Sort of a haute coture version of a bucket brigade! Anyway, the closet was soon empty. So, I stepped out of the way and let Oz have the honor of snooping around. A wise decision, as it turned out. Because, it took him only thirty seconds to find a trap door!

"I'll go down, first," said Angel: "Followed by Oz. After all, we've had more run-ins with him."

Sonny and I nodded. Five minutes later, all four of us were walking along a hallway with lead-lined walls.

"Looks like a fall-out shelter," I whispered: "Left over from the early days of the Cold War,"

"Ding-ding-ding-ding!" came a near-deafening shout (in parody of a game show bell): "You are absolutely correct, sir! And, by the way? No need to murmur like little tykes in church. Between the acoustics of that corridor, and my own recent enhancements, I can hear you just fine!"

We looked at each other, in frustration, but gave up all pretense of stealth, just the same. Consequently, we rushed the rest of the way down the hallway. What we found waiting for us in the big room at the end of it, though, made us skid to a collective halt. Primarily, because Ethan Rayne was not alone!

Standing to his right, with her left arm draped across his shoulders, was a raven-haired brunette who looked like a cross between Angelina Jolie and Morticia Addams. While to his left stood a guy in a flowing black cape who could have been her brother (right down to the long dark hair).

"Hello, Angelus. Welcome to my digs. I believe you know my significant other, here!"

"Drusilla?" Angel gasped

"Hello, Daddy."

"And, this stately gentleman, t'other side of me?" continued Ethan: "Well, he can speak for himself,"

The latter smiled and nodded: "I. . .am Dracula."

tbc