She bolted toward his house and heard her mom calling to her from somewhere behind her, realized too late that she had neither stake nor holy water, although she didn’t think either was going to help her out right now. She was running up his walkway within seconds, and it was easy to follow the commotion around to the back of his house, where she noticed a hole had been smashed through the wooden fence surrounding the yard.
“Get back! Go on— beat it!”
The harsh, panicked voice Buffy heard now was nothing like that of the man she’d previously talked to, and it was hard to understand the words above the nearly screaming tone the dog’s yowling had taken on. The fence wasn’t high and she vaulted over it rather than waste time running down to the gate; when she landed in a crouch, what she saw in the small backyard nearly made her fall over.
It really was a dragon.
Well, sort of—no wings, no fire-spouting nostrils. But the beast that had Mutzoid and his owner backed into the far corner where the fence met the garage wasn’t far from the rest of what she’d always pictured, though thankfully a good deal smaller. Still, it was a good four feet long from its oddly-shaped snout to the end of a long, whipping tail, with skin coloring vaguely like a desert reptile. Worse, it moved way too much like a hundred monsters she’d seen animated in movies, snapping and lunging at man and dog, all the while making a horribly vicious screeeee! screeeee! sound that stabbed at her ears.
“Hey!” she yelled at it. “You’re waking the neighbors!”
When the creature swung its head in her direction and she saw it full on, she hesitated. It was almost kind of cute, with a birdlike face and itty-bitty eyes—
“Buffy, look out!”
Too late she registered the blood dripping from the animal’s beak, proof that it’d been trying industriously to make a meal out of the unfortunate Mutzoid. Instinct saved her when it was nearly on top of her; Buffy did a neat sidestep, corkscrewed her upper body and came around in a full-powered roundhouse kick that sent the beast sprawling nearly six feet away. But it was heavier and meatier than she’d expected—sort of like an overgrown turkey—and Buffy was not pleased to see it scramble right back up. It swung its head toward Mutzoid, then back at her, as if trying to decide which was more deserving of its attention. Buffy knew before it did that she’d be the lucky recipient. Isn’t that always the way it works out for me?
She already had a plan when the animal rushed her. She faked to the left and saw the thing throw its body weight that way, then try to correct it when she went into a roll past its right side. Buffy came up on her feet next to a large metal garbage can with a slightly askew lid, and when the dragon-thing clawed its way upright and ran at her again, she had the lid in her hand like a gladiator’s shield and she brained it with a good, heavy swat.
It flew over backward like a boxer whose opponent had landed the best of all possible right crosses. For a few tense moments it lay twitching between her and her disbelieving neighbor, then it was still.
“Buffy, are you all right?” Joyce hurried into the yard and reached for her, then jerked to a stop as she saw the beast on the ground. “W–what is that?”
“I think it’s your Indonesian dragon,” Buffy answered. She inched closer as her neighbor, holding Mutzoid’s collar tightly, did the same.
“Is it dead?” he asked shakily. “Man, it was trying to kill my dog!”
“Not dead,” Buffy said. “It’s still breathing.” She reached back and upended the metal garbage can, spilling out a couple of plastic bags of trash. “Help me get it in here before it wakes up.”
Joyce stared at her. “You’re going to touch it?”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “I’m all out of dragon muzzles and leashes right now, Mom.” Joyce looked like she wanted to answer, then she changed her mind and circled the thing uncertainly. “Feet first,” Buffy decided. “The hind legs are pretty powerful; we don’t want it kicking the lid off.”
“My name’s Russ,” the guy said to her mother. Thank goodness; for a moment Buffy had thought he expected her to introduce the two of them, and she still hadn’t remembered his name. The dog was whining and Buffy saw the poor thing was slashed and bleeding in a couple of places. “Let me take care of Mutzoid and I’ll help.”
“Mutzoid?” her mother repeated in bewilderment, but Russ had already stepped out of range. Joyce looked at Buffy in amazement. “He named his dog Mutzoid?”
“Mom,” Buffy said, putting a sharp edge to her voice. “The dragon-thing, remember? Before it wakes up and tries to have us for dinner?” She glanced around the yard—was that voices she was hearing in the darkness? It was Friday night and lots of folks were out for the evening, but her luck might fail at any moment. The last thing she needed was for more neighbors to show up and start speculating about this creature. Something about those eyes . . .
“Oh . . . of course.”
Buffy’s mother circled the animal again, not sure about what to do next, then Russ reappeared. As frantic as he’d been just a few moments ago, he managed to give Joyce a slightly trembling smile. Buffy realized that he was a nice-looking guy of about forty, with longish blond hair and blue eyes. “What do we do?”
“You hold the head,” Buffy decided. “Mom and I’ll lift it up and slide the garbage can under it. We need to move fast, and watch out for the mouth—if it wakes up it’s going to try to bite.”
“Don’t I know that,” Russ muttered.
The animal was heavier than it looked and cramming it into the trash can was a struggle, but the job was quickly over. As fast as they moved, it almost wasn’t enough. Buffy had barely closed the lid on the container when the can began to shake; she and Joyce instinctively leaned on the lid and in another second, the beast inside began hammering against the metal with its beak— clang! clang! clang! —in a frantic attempt to get free.
“We need something to keep this closed!” Buffy shouted above the racket. “Do you have a belt or—”
“Hold on, I’ve got some rope in the garage.” Russ hurried away, leaving Buffy and Joyce to hold the top in place while the dragon creature inside grew more agitated. The strikes increased in intensity and the can was starting to rock from side to side.
“Buffy,” Joyce gasped, “what if we can’t hold it?”
“We’ve got to,” she answered grimly. “Russ!”
“I found it!” he called from inside the small building. He scurried back and began lashing a heavy cord through the side handles and across the top of the can, then he ran the rope around the bottom as Buffy and Joyce tilted it to give him access. As Russ tied it off, the thing inside finally quieted, as if it somehow knew its escape route had been eliminated.
“Animal control complete,” Buffy announced, scraping ing a dirt-smudged hand across her forehead. Ugh, she needed a shower and her clothes were full of dirt. No time for that right now.
“Speaking of which,” Russ said, “I suppose we should call them and get this thing carted off. I’ll give them a call right—”
“No!” Buffy said a little too quickly. When he stared at her, she tried to cover. “I mean, Mom and I will take care of it. We’ll . . . drive it over. . . .”
“We have a friend there,” Joyce said smoothly. “He has connections at the zoo and he’ll probably want to look at it.” Buffy could have kissed her.
Russ looked at them doubtfully. “But it’s a dragon—”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Buffy interrupted. “It’s more like a . . . a b ig bird . . . thing. Isn’t that right, Mom?”
“Exactly.”
Russ looked from them to the garbage can, then shrugged tiredly. “Whatever. I just want it out of here.”
“Trunk o’ the car,” Buffy said brightly. “No problem. And this way we won’t have to wait around. You know how governmental agencies take hours to handle stuff. Mom?”
“I’ll bring the family limo around, dear.”
Buffy grinned. Pretty good comeback considering five minutes ago
they’d been in the midst of dragonbattling. She waited with Russ while Joyce went and got the car, more to make sure Russ didn’t just go on and call Animal Control than to guard against the creature’s breaking out. Sometimes adults did impulsive things when you weren’t watching them.
She was glad she’d stayed when her mother pulled up next to his garage and the three of them grunted beneath the considerable weight of the garbage can. “Are you sure about this?” Russ asked, eyeing the way the can stuck out of the open trunk. “If this thing gets loose again—”
“It won’t,” Buffy promised solemnly. “We have it totally under control.”
“And our friend is an expert,” Joyce added.
Russ folded his arms, clearly unconvinced. “Expert in what?”
Joyce looked at him blankly. “Research,” Buffy said hastily. “Of the strange and animal variety.”
Russ looked from her to her mother, but finally he shrugged. “Well, I—”
“We really have to go.” Buffy grabbed her mother’s arm and pulled her toward the car. “We’d love to stay and chat but the sooner we get this thing locked up, the better. And we want to catch Mom’s, uh, friend before he goes home.”
“Besides,” Joyce reminded him gently, “don’t you need to take care of Muh–mu—”
“Mutzoid,” Buffy said helpfully. “You might want to take him to the vet.”
Russ frowned. “You’re right,” he said. He held the car door as Joyce climbed behind the wheel. “Just be careful.”
“We will,” Buffy’s mother promised. “Good luck with the dog.”
Russ nodded and hurried back toward the house. Buffy felt a smidgen of the tension along her shoulders ease.
Joyce watched her as Buffy fastened her seatbelt. “All right, Buffy. Where to?”
She couldn’t believe Joyce even had to ask.
“To Giles, of course.”
“Gee,” Joyce said dryly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Good evening,” a woman’s silky voice said from behind him. “You must be Oz and Devon.”
Oz looked around from where he was squatting next to one of the big speakers on the stage, repairing a cut speaker wire. A few feet away, Devon was unrolling electrical cords; he and his friend stood almost in unison and came forward.
“I’m Alysa Bardrick,” the woman said and held out her hand. “I hope it’s not too early to meet. I wanted to be here at the start of your show tonight so I could get a full feel for your music.”
The more gregarious and flirtatious Devon took her hand first, then Oz. Alysa was tall—nearly six feet— and whip thin, with short, spiked-out dark red hair and plenty of dark eye makeup on a face that was harder around the eyes than her age seemed to warrant. She was dressed in a chic, snug-fitting black dress that seemed more cocktail party than Bronze, but maybe that was it in a nutshell, Oz thought. Alysa knew how to make impressions with people while the wellmeaning members of Dingoes didn’t have a clue.
“Great to meet you.” Devon beamed and looked to Oz.
“Likewise,” Oz said. He glanced down at his hand and realized she’d pressed a business card into his palm without his noticing. Slick.
She nodded and inclined her head toward the equipment. “Please, don’t let me interrupt your setup. I can give you a rundown of my services while you work.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry to say that I won’t be able to stay for the whole performance. I have a couple of business associates to talk with here tonight, so I’ll be in and out. Also, I’ve got another meeting in Marlow at eleven o’clock, so I’ll have to leave by nine-thirty.”
“Eleven is pretty late for a meeting,” Oz commented, although what he was really thinking was that she’d barely hear them play three or four songs before she’d be taking off, probably to hear another group. They’d have to make them good ones.
Alysa smiled and glanced around the Bronze, her clear gray eyes missing nothing. “It’s a late-night business.”
“So what’s the deal?” Devon said, jumping right into it. “You can do what for us?”
“Provided I like what I hear tonight,” Alysa said as her gaze cut back to them, “I can do a lot. Give me three months and I’ll have you out of the small town scene and into L.A.”
They both stared at her. “Out of here,” Oz finally said. Well, duh; of course that would be the goal, wouldn’t it? He glanced at a table a few feet away where Willow and Xander sat and watched them, barely containing their excitement. He’d been unable to convince them to wait until after the meeting; they’d much rather sit there and do the table jitter.
Alysa followed his glance and raised an eyebrow. “Ah,” she said. “Of course. You have connections here.”
“Well,” Devon said, “it’s still open for discussion.” As good as Alysa might be, she didn’t know Devon; Oz could already hear some misgiving creeping into the singer’s voice and he couldn’t blame him. Even for Devon, “out” of here seemed a little bold on the promised fast track from someone they’d never heard of a week ago.
“Are they band members?”
Oz blinked. “Say what?”
“Are they band members?” Alysa repeated. “Your friends at the table.”
Oz shook his head. “They’re more like audience.” Alysa looked thoughtful. “There are a lot of different areas to cover when a band goes on the road,” she said. She pulled out another half-dozen business cards and handed them to him. “Scheduling, setup and breakdown, public relations, advertising, errand running. For close acquaintances, I could probably find a position in my crew.”
“Numbers,” Devon said before Oz could fully digest this. “What kind of numbers are we talking about?”
“Thirty-five percent plus expenses,” Alysa said in a no-negotiation voice. “Expenses would include food, advertising, phone calls and travel. If you can’t provide your own transportation to and from what I arrange for you, those costs would also have to come out of it. You provide your own equipment, of course.”
Devon frowned, trying to do the math. “Doesn’t leave much after the bills are paid,” Oz said.
“It leaves enough,” Alysa said flatly. “As your popularity grows, the clubs start doing their own advertising for the band because they know you’ll draw the crowds, plus I start to charge more for your shows. It works out.”
Oz wasn’t so sure. Still, the idea of having a manager do it all—the pain in the neck scheduling, some promotion and publicity push—was really appealing. “What about recording deals?” he asked.
“We’ll see what happens,” Alysa said. “I’ve got a straight line to a lot of ears in the industry. If I say come listen to a group, it happens. You guys get your talents in top mode and I’ll get the earth to shake for Dingoes.” She gave them a pseudo-warm smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then inclined her head toward the table where the other two waited. “And don’t forget. There’s enough space for a big family. Would you introduce me to your friends?”
Surprised, Oz nodded. “Uh . . . sure.” He gestured at them and the two were on their feet in an instant. “This is Willow,” he said as his girlfriend joined them. “That’s Xander.” Someone coughed lightly off to the side and Oz turned his head, startled. “Oh, and this is Angel.”
Before the others could react, Angel reached to shake Alysa’s hand. His face stayed impassive but Oz knew Angel and his facial expressions, and there was no mistaking it when the vampire’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Oh, I don’t believe so,” Alysa said, smiling. “I’m absolutely positive I would have remembered someone as striking as you. Perhaps you’ve seen me in one of the clubs. Are you with the band?”
Angel shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m just an acquaintance.”
Alysa nodded. “I see. Another friend.” She scanned them all, then smiled at Oz and Devon. “My, but you do have a diverse circle of friends, don’t you? No matter—I’m certain I can find a
place for all of them.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Angel, for instance, could be band security on road trips. What do you say, Angel?”
“I don’t travel well,” he said blandly.
“He’s kind of like perishable fruit,” Xander quipped. “But . . . you know people, right?” He leaned in closer. “People in, like, Hollywood?”
“Ah,” Alysa said knowingly, “an aspiring actor?”
Xander’s eyes widened. “Me? Oh no, but I could do . . . well, stuff.”
“A roadie, then,” Alysa said. If he caught the patronizing tone in her voice, Xander ignored it. “We can always use someone to help out in general.”
“Yeah, just call me General X,” Xander said enthusiastically. “At your service.”
Before he could say anything more, Oz saw Alysa’s gaze flick toward Willow. “How about you . . . Willow, isn’t it?” She gazed at Willow thoughtfully. “That’s a beautiful name. What would you like to do?”
Willow blinked nervously. “Me? Oh . . . I . . . I’m fine where I am. Really. Fine and . . . and dandy. That’s me.”
Alysa looked surprised. “You don’t want to go with Dingoes? With Oz?”
“Go?” she looked at Oz. “Well, I—”
“She’s a computer geek,” Xander said. “A deep one.”
“I see,” Alysa said. “Well, you have my card if you change your mind. Or . . .” She paused, thought wheels obviously turning inside her brain. “Think about this: Perhaps you could create a web site for Dingoes, and for a few of my other bands. We haven’t really tapped the Internet for advertising and marketing yet. The potential is huge, you know.” At Willow’s suddenly much brighter look, a corner of her mouth turned up before she again addressed Oz. “Like I said, I have a few people to meet with, so I’ll let you and Devon get on with your gig for tonight. I’ll be in and out of here over the next couple of hours, and that’ll give me a feel for your music. Let’s plan to meet here tomorrow night, all right?” She gave each of them an all-business good-bye handshake. “I can do a lot for you guys. You just need the right leader.”
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