If the flamboyant mage laughed, it wasn't during their telephone conversation. He had asked a few questions, and then insisted that he would arrive at the Xavier Mansion – ahh, pardon, Xavier School just after two. He'd also mentioned the chance of having her show him the cemetery so that he could inspect the scene with a few of his own abilities.

Kendra wasn't about to ask why a mage might want to inspect the site of a potential magical ritual. The whole reason that she was asking him to look into the matter was her own limited knowledge of the magical arts – little more than enough to realize their presence and when she should find more capable assistance. Any attempted resurrection ritual was beyond her skills, though she could identify the whole concept as dangerous and probably bad. The fact that this was a group of vampires, their plan seemed to involve blood sacrifices, and also appeared to be a multi-step ritual plan? Even worse. Multi-step plans were more complicated, capable of bigger results and had far more chances to become disasters, though that was the extent of her knowledge of multi-step magical rituals.

For all she knew, Dr. Strange might be able to say that planting or burning one specific plant at just such a location would render their whole plan useless. Or by preventing them from acquiring one specific ingredient, they could stop the ritual from progressing. She didn't know – that was the whole point of asking the sorcerer.

Kendra made some more notes in the journal she had been using, notes about the interrupted rituals and her decision to bring in Dr. Strange as an expert mage. She made notes about her recent dreams, and her speculations about what the various images might mean, both in literal interpretations and more symbolic. Did the dueling Fyarl demons represent actual Fyarl demons, or were they representing some other closely matched physical danger? Were the swords literal swords, other weapons, or something else entirely? Did the ocean represent a precise location, a more general seaside concept, a remote place with water, or a border of some sort, with powerful forces present? She also drew in her best representation of the sword she had been seeing, unsure if it was of special significance or the product of food too close to her sleep taking hold.

The little book was safely hidden away by one in the afternoon. Not only had Kendra hidden the book, but she'd had a good meal and was well into a work-out to keep her skills sharp and practice new moves before combat. None of that made her feel more comfortable about meeting the sorcerer, only that there was no more she could do to busy her hands and try to calm her mind. Magic was largely a mystery to Kendra, and mysteries, like any other situation where she lacked enough information, made her uneasy. It did not help that while Kendra had no doubts about the mage's skill, she doubted his claimed duty, doubted his altruism, and had a few doubts about his sanity. Every powerful mage she'd ever heard of was also a person of at best questionable sanity and sometimes flat-out insane. Something about meddling with reality loosening someone's grasp on the same. But she was certain of his power, certain of her ignorance in things magical, and certain that this ritual the vampires were attempting was Bad.

It made her wish that she had a Watcher around to handle talking to eccentric individuals with useful skills. Someone to talk to mages and pawn-brokers and smelly informants while she just went out and killed demons. It would be easier, less stressful. And it was currently impossible. Kendra knew complaining about what was instead of what she'd like wouldn't help, so she might as well deal with what she had, and see what she could change by actions instead of complaints.

She didn't have the support of Mr. Zabuto, who had always given her instructions for her missions. Instructions on what to fight and how to deal with dangers. Who had relayed information gleaned from his various contacts and books. There had been no room or need for doubt with Mr. Zabuto as her Watcher.

She did not have the support of Mr. Giles, who had been the Watcher or Buffy. She did not have a group of people close to her age to fight with her, to patrol for angers, or to help look through books for information. She did not have people ready to help ease the weight of her destiny the way Buffy's friends helped Buffy. She did not have a loving, if uninformed, mother to make sure she ate well and had enough rest after her fights the way Buffy did. There was nobody nudging her to discover the right answers the way Mr. Giles seemed to guide Buffy along her research. Nobody who would stand back and listen the way her friends did while Buffy raged against her destiny and calling, while complaining about the sacrifices and dangers.

Kendra was starting to think Mr. Giles handled things better. He taught Buffy the way one might teach an apprentice, permitting her to make some mistakes so long as she learned from them and the world didn't end. Mr. Zabuto had used her as the Council's Weapon. Being an apprentice sounded better than being a weapon, even if it was much harder.

She did not have Mr. Zabuto, or Mr. Giles. She had Mr. Krutchten and perhaps his young friend Mr. Travers who could help her with information and weapons. She had Dorothy Weaver to tend her injuries. She had Charles to remind her of the bright, optimistic hope of a better tomorrow, and Erik to remind her that she wasn't the only one willing to fight for a tomorrow, even if it wasn't as bright as they hoped. She had Jean and Misty, who wanted her to help not as a Slayer but as an adult they trusted.

She could manage. Perhaps they would pull together into a better team, into a stronger group. Perhaps her support would not weaken the idea of the bright, hopeful school that filled Charles with purpose.

Her future would be as a person, not a weapon. Maybe it would be tougher, but when had she ever shied away from fulfilling her duty because that duty was hard? Would being a person be less worthy a goal? And there was nothing - nothing! - in any of the records she knew about that suggested a Slayer could only be a weapon. Tradition was not the same as requirement. She would be a person, however poor at socializing or unprepared for normal tasks. She would develop a hobby, make friends, teach students.

For several moments after those revolutionary thoughts, Kendra just held still, a part of her expecting something to crash in and punish her for such ideas. For daring to want to be more than a weapon.

She was not struck down for her thought. Nothing came to attack her for wanting to be Kendra the person in addition to Kendra the Slayer.

Kendra began to smile, despite everything. Somehow, facing the mysterious mage no longer seemed quite as intimidating.

The idea that vampires were trying to revive some Great Lord of the Dead was still very unsettling. With luck, her talk with this Dr. Strange would result in a plan beyond merely hoping she could keep interfering with the vampires' plans. Maybe she would even be able to call Strange an ally.

end part 49.

Kendra waited on the steps, wondering how the sorcerer would arrive. Would he be floating through the air again? Appearing wreathed in flames and light? Step through a portal edged in smoke and lightning? He had said he would be there at two, and two was growing closer and closer.

Dr. Strange did not arrive in fire or lightning, or by stepping though a portal, or flying through the air. He arrived in a dark green car, driven by a watchful oriental man.

"A bright afternoon to you, Kendra. Will you show me the location for the ritual that you interrupted?" Dr. Strange wore a rather plain grey suit, though instead of a tie his dark green shirt was held closed by the same eye-like broach that had held his cloak. He wore a pair of white gloves, and from the corner of her eyes, Kendra could see hints of golden stitching on the backs of them, though the patterns were gone when she looked directly at his hands.

It was a pleasant surprise to learn the mage could blend with ordinary people, even if he wasn't an exact match.

"I would be quite willing to do so, sir," Kendra gave a polite nod. "I will admit now dat I know little of magic, and may have questions. I do not mean to cause any offense."

"Few have much knowledge of the Magical Arts." The capital letters were audible as Dr. Strange spoke. "As I am not needing to try to convince you of the reality and danger of magic, I consider you more aware than most."

"Miss, if you could direct me to the location?" the oriental man's voice held less of an accent than Kendra's own words.

It didn't take long before the car arrived near the cemetery where Kendra had interrupted the vampires' ritual. Daylight changed the appearance, from ominous and mysterious to an impression best described as forlorn. She motioned to the sorcerer to follow her as she entered the cemetery, her voice low. "I have not been here since the ritual, there is a chance the place may have been disturbed."

"Mere rearrangement of objects or cutting the grass would not change the magical traces left by a blood ritual. I should be able to read their intentions even if the physical objects have been further moved or destroyed," Dr. Strange sounded calm.

Kendra blinked at his words, unused to the idea that changing the area, that destroying every clue she could sense, would not ruin the ability to analyze what had happened. It defied her experiences. But that was the essence of magic – defying expectation and nature and science with incomprehensible rituals and not-logic. She suspected the traces he intended to read to be related to the warning dreams a Slayer would receive, though she had no idea where those dreams came from. Mr. Zabuto had believed they came from Greater Powers beyond mortal men. Buffy had believed they came from the Slayers who had fought and fallen before her.

"The grave they were focusing on is back here," she led the way to the headstone bearing the name Edmund Drake. "I assume dere must be a reason why this grave was chosen instead of another, but I do not know what dat reason is."

"Ahhh," Dr. Strange looked at the headstone, his shoulders sagging. "They have been tracing the bloodlines. It is what I feared."

"Sir?" Kendra looked at the sorcerer, wondering if he would explain himself. "It answers some of your questions? De vampire spoke of bringing back a Great Lord of de Dead."

Dr. Strange continued to stare at the name carved into the stone. "I presume you are well aware that not all vampires are equal, not in power or ability. Within recent centuries, few have risen to significance by their own power instead of through the power of their packs and networks of vicious minions. But one did rise to power, a vampire and a mage, capable of brilliant and terrible deeds, willing to fight his own enemies with sword, fang, or magic. Cunning, intelligent, and brutal to his opponents. A name was whispered, one given to him by his foes and allies alike. It is translated as the Son of the Dragon or the Son of the Devil. Even the most ignorant have heard it whispered – Drakula."

Kendra felt herself shiver, despite not knowing if this Drakula was the same as the European warrior-king who had ruled in her own world, before the portal. Mr. Zabuto had once assured her that the Drakula who had ruled Wallachia had not been a vampire, that it had simply been a name that captured the fancy of a poor Irish author. But in those times, names were titles as often as they were an inheritance, and the name need not be linked to European royalty at all. But the sorcerer spoke of bloodlines… "This Drakula was defeated, else they would not need to bring him back. Does their ritual seek the blood of the one who won against him to reverse the battle?"

Kendra did not give voice to the other possibility often whispered in the stories she'd heard of magic. Those stories spoke of the blood of the victor being used to free or return the defeated or to unlock great treasures. But other stories spoke of using the blood of the fallen to bring them back, to draw on the strength and connection of family blood. Of foul magic drawing the strength of the younger to sustain their elders.

"Close. But Edmund is beyond their reach to make use of now," Dr. Strange's hands moved through the air, as if tracing shapes.

Kendra looked at the carved letters, her fingers resting on the word father. "Will dey seek his child? Did he have more den one?"

"I will take care of that end of things, Kendra. Drakula was enough trouble to put down, I have no desire for him to come back," with that, the sorcerer turned away from the grave.

As he moved towards the car, he spoke again. "His minions will keep trying to bring him back. They will try to act again on the New Moon, be prepared. And beware the dwellers of the deep waters."

Everything seemed to ripple around her, and Kendra found herself once more on the front steps of the Xavier Mansion.

This was exactly why most people hated dealing with mages. They bent reality into knots and never explained.

End part 50.