Chapter 41.

WASHINGTON, D.C.
(FEB. 12, 1943)

Dr. Death had no problem flinging open the door to the sub-basement store room of the Smithsonian Institute. Entering it quite boldly, accompanied only by the two genin supplied by the Go Kamisori Gama sect of the Assamite Clan.

"Hello, Doc."

The all-too familiar voice made the not-so-good doctor halt in his tracks.

"Agent Holm?"

A flashlight clicked on, illuminating the face of the anarch wizard's arch-enemy.

"We meet again. And, this time, for the last time."

"With all due respect, Agent Holm, you've made similar assumptions about me before. . .that soon proved erroneous."

Jimmy Holm shrugged: "Even radio news weathermen have the right to be right, once in a while."

Dr. Death chuckled: "We out-number you, sir. That, alone, should persuade you to step aside and let us take the Ferrula Geminiarum without hindrance."

"And do what with it, exactly?"

"Something that should have your blessing, Agent. The death of Adolf Hitler! By ordering the capture my sire, and turning him over to the D.R.I. for study, he has severed all my ties to the Axis cause."

"Let me guess," replied the stalwart young Fed: "You plan to split him in two; drain the strong half dry; and have the weak half declare you his successor as ruler of Nazi Germany."

Dr. Death arched his eyebrows: "How. . .?"

"You might say a little bird told us," a new voice responded.

The owner of that voice stepped out of the shadows, to Jimmy Holm's right. Revealing himself to be the Green Lama.

"An RAF Eagle, to be exact," continued the latter: "Group Captain Dwight Renfield; bundist double-agent."

* * * * *

ANTHEA ESTATES,

SAUSALITO, CALIF.

(LATE SPRING, 1999)

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

There was an awkward pause while Angel just stared at Dracula, slack-jawed, before finally demanding to know if the Transylvanian was crazy.

"What makes you think I'd ever betray Buffy like that?"

"To keep her from betraying you and all her other friends," countered Ethan: "You see, I'm going to kidnap her Mum. And, the demand for getting her back unharmed will be to steal those vellum pages for _me!"

Angel had heard enough: "You chaotic son of a. . .!"

He lunged forward; followed by Sonny, Oz, and myself. But, we might as well have never tried, for all the good we did. Because, at that same moment, Dracula turned into a giant dire wolf. Taking on all four of us, at the same time, and thereby delaying us just enough to allow Ethan and Drusilla to escape! The both of them doing so by Ethan grabbing on to Drusilla before using his enhanced chaos magic to turn them into a black cloud of smoke. Followed by their wafting out of there through the fall-out shelters ventilator shafts!

As for the four of us? Well, even with Oz going into Krinos mode, we proved no match for Dracula. We wound up being flung against the walls of that shelter like the proverbial rag dolls. Whereupon, he turned himself into black smoke, and followed after Ethan and Drusilla. And, the first thing Angel said, when we managed to pick ourselves up, was:

"I've got to warn Joyce!"

When we got back upstairs, however, we found that either Dracula or Ethan (or both) had crushed every single telephone in the condo. With all the tires on the clandestinely borrowed U-haul van getting slashed for good measure.

As the sinister trio of vampires drove off (with Dracula telekinetically steering a Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows), Ethan made a cellphone call.

"Sarpedon? It's me."

A brief pause.

"Blalock, you ninny! Anyway, I was wondering if you might make a second trip to the Vlodnik for me. To collect that brass-tipped rod of Tothric's."

Another pause.

"Fine, fine! Double the previous payment. But, for that price, I expect personal hand-delivery to me."

Yet, one more pause.

"Why, Sunnydale, of course! See you there in. . .one hour?"

PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,

SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON

(7:00 A.M./PST)

Giles had taken Willow and Xander into the living room to discuss what options they had for determining who the courier of the vellum pages might be. So, none of them was present to see the still-hypnotically sleeping Buffy suddenly open her eyes and sit bolt upright!

She got up off the bed, went over to the main dresser bureau, and withdrew a cellphone from the top drawer. Whereupon, she began dialing a certain seven-digit number. And, after the third ring, someone on the other end picked up.

"Hello, Mom? It's me. I just wanted to tell you that, while I wish I could be there to stop it, I can't. So, just try not to be too afraid. And, like that old song says. . .know that I love you."

BEL AIR, CALIFORNIA

(JAN. 20, 1981)

"It was quite the knock-down/drag-out fight, I can tell you. But, Agent Holm and I got all three of them! Wouldn't you know it, though? It turned out that Doc Death had sent _three_ Assamites to get the Ferrula Gemininarum. With the third one posing as himself! But, you didn't come here just to listen to your father-in-law's war stories. What's on your mind, Henry?"

Hank Summers, House Fortunae's personal liaison between the DRI and the Order of Hermes, shook his head, with a wry smirk, at Jethro Dumont's stubborn-yet-good-natured insistence on calling him by his formal given name.

"I came to show you our very first baby photos of Buffy."

At this news, the semi-retired Green Lama leaned forward in his chair with a speed and eagerness that belied his age.

"Gimme-gimme-gimme!"

Hank could not resist laughing as he handed them over. Despite the knowledge of what would happen when Jethro got to the last photo in the batch. And, sure enough: after the first thirty seconds of proud, grandfatherly chuckles, there came a tell-tale gasp.

"The Mark of Sinea?!"

Hank nodded.

"That's why I'm really here. I won't allow the Watchers to recruit her as a Potential, Jeth. Quentin Travers has become a little too fond of the Cruciamentum, for my peace of mind. And, no daughter of mine is going to go through that sadistic bull-crap!"

"Don't you think you're being a tad paranoid?" replied Jethro. "Even for our line of work? I mean, the chances of Buffy someday being called as the active Slayer. . ."

"Any chance greater than zero is _too_ great!" snapped his son-in-law. "I mean it, Jeth. I need your help. Only you can erase the Mark so that none of the Council's usual locator spells can even home in on where it was surgically removed from!"

There was an awkward pause, while the Green Lama considered this. Finally, however, he nodded. Emphasizing his agreement with a reassuring hand on Hank's left shoulder.

"I'll do my best. Hopefully, time will prove your fears to have been groundless."

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

(LATE SPRING, 1999)

The midnight-black Escalade crossed the Marin County line at one minute before seven. A fact that was promptly pointed out to Ethan Rayne by Drusilla.

"Thank you, love," replied the vampirized chaos-worshipper. "Time for me to pop down to Sunnydale."

Actually, it was not so much "popping" as teleportation via the fae-realm known as the Umbra. An ability he had gained when he diablerized a naive genuine Kiasyd (with puppy-dog eyes) named Clem! In any event, by seven o'clock proper, he had rematerialized within the abandoned storefront he had once occupied as a Halloween costumier.* Seconds later, there was a heavy pounding on the back door to the shop.

Ethan ran over to open it. . .and smiled upon seeing Sarpedon the Celerity Demon standing there.

"OK! Here's the rod. Where's my money?"

tbc

*See "Dinkoes Ate My Baby."

P.S.-Diablerie is when one vampire kills another for their blood (a.k.a. "vitae").

Yes, that's the same Clem (of the Bassett hound eyes and ears) who used to baby-sit dawn in the mainstream Buffyverse.