“What the— hey!” a man’s voice cut in. Buffy allowed herself a split-second blink to look at the guy and saw that he’d come out of the back of some unidentifiable storefront. Their unexpected visitor’s voice ended in nearly a scream as his eyes adjusted to the lower light and he realized exactly what he was seeing. “Get it away from me!” he shouted, trying to back-pedal.
Too late. The hapless man started to cry out again, then the T. Rex’s head shot forward and its jaws snapped together. The guy’s head and a good portion of his shoulders disappeared as the dinosaur’s razor-edged teeth severed through bone and cartilage and it reared back and started to lift its head to swallow its meal.
Oz wasn’t one to let a diversion like this go to waste and he dodged sideways in the opposite direction. He’d taken no more than four steps when the tottering torsoremains of what Buffy was determined was going to be Baby Dino’s last meal suddenly exploded into dust. At the same time, a sharp puff of the familiar brown powder erupted from both sides of the creature’s mouth; in response, it threw its head forward and sneezed as though it were no more dangerous than the family cat.
“Imagine that,” Buffy heard Oz say as he put more distance between him and the T. Rex.
“Not the method I normally reserve for vampires,” Buffy observed, mentally noting to check the store later for the vampire’s handiwork. “But that works, too.” Before the dinosaur could recover from its surprise, Buffy sprinted forward and leaped for the fire escape a few feet over its head.
“Buffy, are you crazy?” shrieked Xander, but the T. Rex had already seen her. She caught the rough metalwork one-handed and hung there for a single eternal second, saw both Xander and Oz rush in and whale at the T. Rex’s hindquarters in an effort to pull its attention away from her. Angel stayed where he was, crouched and ready, perhaps, to place himself between her and it when the time was right. But her friends’ ground attack was no good. Oz and Xander might as well have been mosquitoes dive-bombing the hide of an elephant for all the thing acknowledged their presence. The power inside it, that dark, driven intelligence, knew and recognized Buffy, wanted her so much that it never noticed Angel at all and barely looked backward at the other two teenagers.
But that glance downward, that one glance, was all Buffy needed. By the time the dinosaur brought its oversize head back up to face her, she was on the forward swing like a monkey in a tree—
—and she rammed the length of pipe into its eye and deep into its brain.
This time it did roar, a bellow of pain and rage that so far overshadowed her earlier whack against the Dumpster that her strength then seemed only pathetic now. Blood, lots of it, and shot through with streamers of abnormal light, pulsed out of the hole where its eye had been and only a few inches of the pipe was still visible. Enraged, the T. Rex dove for her yet couldn’t see well enough to find its target. With both hands now free, Buffy clawed at the steel grid work of the stairs, but she didn’t quite get her legs up in time to avoid getting cracked by the good side of the dinosaur’s head. She took the blow on her side, then lost her grip and fell, rolling automatically and feeling the concrete burn away at her knees, elbows and palms. Weaponless, she was still right back on her feet, scanning the alley frantically. There was something a couple of yards to her right that might be useful, but—
She heard Angel growl as the baby T. Rex leaned toward her and roared again, but the dinosaur’s sound ended in midnote and its remaining glowing eye burned a sudden, hot white-gold, the surge of a life force fighting to keep itself going. The possessed creature took a single, shuddering step forward, then collapsed in the middle of the alley as the light in its eye fizzled out.
Silence.
The four of them inched toward it, and Angel gave a cautious prod at one of the dinosaur’s hind legs with the toe of his shoe. Nothing moved or twitched. “Dead,” he said simply.
“I like a good joke as much as the next clown,” Xander said in a wheezy voice, “but I just can’t think of any right now.”
“Not seeing the humor either,” Oz said.
Both guys were still gripping their two-by-fours, but the pipe Buffy had used was completely inside the T. Rex’s skull, driven the rest of the way by its own crash to the ground. “Okay,” she said, and was surprised to realize she was panting, proof of the fear she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge. “Angel’s right. It’s dead. I . . . think.”
“Can a demon-infested T. Rex play possum?” Xander asked, staring down at it.
“I’m going to guess not,” Oz answered.
“Is this a demon or a dinosaur?” Angel asked, puzzled. “Dinosaurs don’t exist anymore.”
For a moment Buffy actually seemed amused. “Of course they don’t. Neither do vampires, demons, shape-shifters, or any of the other nasties here on the Hellmouth.”
Xander shuddered as they studied it for a few more seconds. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to go ‘poof’ and disappear, does it?”
“Ditto,” said Oz.
“We’ll drag it over there,” Buffy said decisively and pointed to a relatively empty spot between a high pile of broken wooden pallets and a half-dozen garbage cans. “Maybe Giles can think of something and we’ll just come back later and deal with it then.” Angel and the other two looked at her doubtfully, but she sucked in her breath and gamely wrapped her bruised and bloodied hands around one of the baby dinosaur’s heavy-boned ankles. The skin felt clammy and warm, totally gross. “Gag me,” she muttered.
Xander and Oz nervously grabbed the other ankle and Angel took hold of its tail, and, grimacing, they began hauling the creature toward the area Buffy had chosen. There was nothing light about the T. Rex and they found themselves dragging a good three hundred or so pounds down the pavement. “Too bad this thing isn’t edible,” Xander huffed. “Feed a lot of mouths on this sucker!”
“Who says it isn’t?” Oz asked blandly.
“Ewww?” Buffy pointed out.
“Kidding,” he said.
“Let’s hide this thing as best we can, then head for the library,” she said. “Bring Giles up to speed and see if there’s something in those books of his to give us a clue.”
“I’m supposed to be at the Bronze with Devon to talk to Alysa Bardrick,” Oz said. “I’ll meet you there after?”
Buffy nodded. “Cool. And anyway, we should make sure the other forces o’night around here aren’t out of control.” After a few more uncomfortable minutes of jostling, shoving and grunting, at last they had the small, dead dinosaur jammed as far out of sight as they could manage.
“You know,” Oz commented as they finished, “I could swear this thing was, like, trying to go somewhere.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “The way it moved . . . just a feeling, I guess. Animal instinct.”
“How about guessing what we’re going to do if someone finds this thing before we figure out how to get rid of it?” Xander demanded as he wiped sweat off his forehead. “How the hell are we going to explain it?”
“We aren’t,” Buffy said flatly. She gestured at them to follow her and they headed quickly out of the alley. “We won’t be here to worry about it.”
Angel looked at her, then back at where they’d stashed the dead mini-dinosaur. “I assume you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“Of course.”
“Later,” she heard Oz say. She glanced over and saw him head out. After a moment, the three of them did the same, their task a stroll-patrol while Oz turned toward the Bronze. For once, Xander was quiet, and Buffy smiled a little, wondering if he was going over their dino-battle and thinking longingly of the bazookas at the Armory.
“So what—” Angel began.
“In a minute,” she said quietly as Xander drifted a few yards ahead. “First . . . I hear you’ve met the new band manager.”
Angel shrugged, but didn’t say anything. Typical.
“I was getting the lowdown
on her from Willow,” she continued. “Seems kind of . . . strange, the way she wants to get everyone in on it, don’t you think?”
Another noncommittal shrug.
“I mean, why would she, you know? Unless she was involved in something else.”
Still nothing. Buffy tried again.
“You know, I’ve heard stories about people being sold and stuff across the border—”
“I get the hint, Buffy,” Angel said. “I’ll ask around.”
Buffy smiled.
“Giles, what’s the matter with it?” Willow cried as she backed hastily to the other side of the library table. “Is the cage going to hold?”
“Get back!” Giles poked again through the mesh of the steel door holding the Timimus at bay, intentionally jabbing the metal tip of his fencing sword into the flesh of the dinosaur’s left shoulder. It screamed in anger— screeeee! screeeee! —and didn’t calm down at all, but at least it backed away from the door, momentarily abandoning its sudden assault.
“Maybe it’s hungry,” Willow suggested nervously. “Maybe we should feed it.” The beast’s eyes— windows to the soul?—were lit so brilliantly they looked like circles of red-gold fire.
“Somehow I don’t think doing something that’s likely to increase its energy level and size is really the answer to our dilemma,” Giles said as he stared at the dinosaur. “Despite a lack of sustenance, its demon force seems to be making it grow quite rapidly.”
“But maybe it’s angry because it hasn’t eaten,” Willow said. “We could get some lettuce and carrots from the cafeteria—”
“I really don’t believe it’s a vegetarian, do you?”
Willow swallowed. “Well, no bunnies or rats, or . . . whatever. That’s all I’m saying.”
“No any thing. It doesn’t need our help.” Giles paused. “It appears to have calmed down a bit, don’t you think?”
“Only if you can consider spastic snarling calm.” Willow stared at it thoughtfully. “You know, it really did seem ticked off. And look at its eyes—don’t they look a whole lot brighter than before?”
“Yes,” Giles agreed, peering at the creature. “I believe you’re right.” He studied it for another moment, then frowned. “Quite so. . . .”
“What?” she asked as he folded his arms. “Why do you have that frowny face? Frowny faces aren’t good. Especially on you.”
“I’m just . . . concerned, that’s all.” The librarian’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Increased aggression, the brightness of its eyes, the unaccountable growth. We’ve assumed there’s a demonic presence involved, of course, but I just hope it’s not psychically linked to something else over which we have no control.”
“Like . . . another dinosaur?” Willow shuddered.
“We need to research this some more,” Giles said instead of answering. He tapped his chin distractedly. “There are some much older books I haven’t checked yet. I thought they were out of date, but—”
“I don’t think evil gets old,” Willow said. “It just gets more experienced.”
“Unfortunately that’s all too true,” Giles agreed. He backed away from the cage, then went behind the counter and began rummaging. After a few minutes he stood, holding up a book and wiping away a smudge of dust on one cheek. The Timimus had finally stopped its screaming . . . for now. Instead of pacing, it crouched quietly a few feet from the door and watched them with those dreadfully radiant eyes. “Here’s a start,” Giles said triumphantly. “I’ve been trying to find a connection between dinosaurs and demons and coming up blank. Perhaps, however, the bridge is something that resembles both, such as a dragon.”
“Let me see that,” Willow said and reached over the counter for the book. When he gave it to her, she thumbed quickly through it, then went back to the computer. “No—wait. It’s just another reference to Ladon, that Greek thing you were talking about.”
“Then there has to be more,” Giles said. Willow saw him disappear below the countertop once more and heard scraping and bumping as he moved things around, and a quiet double sneeze courtesy of the dust he was stirring up. “Perhaps in here,” he said as he stood again. “I haven’t thought of this volume in months.” The book he grasped this time was even older than the previous one, its indigo-dyed leather cover held together by frayed and ancient straps. But when he scanned through the first few pages, he only looked more puzzled. “This refers to Ladon as something else again,” he said. “It says Ladon is a dragon demon ‘which has been trying for millennia to get all four of its spirits into four suitable hosts on earth.’ ”
“Better four than a hundred,” Willow said brightly.
“Four is more than enough,” Giles reminded her as he scowled at the book in his hands. “We need to put serious effort toward discovering exactly what we’re dealing with here and how disastrous the results might be, preferably before morning. I’m starting to suspect something far worse than we thought, and I would much prefer us to solve it on paper before Buffy, Oz, and Xander find themselves dealing with it in the flesh.”
Chapter 10
“DUDE, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU GOT DRAGGED DOWN THE road by a pack of dirty wild dogs,” Devon said.
“Might as well have,” Oz mumbled, but thankfully Devon didn’t hear him above the group playing on the stage and the babble of voices in the Bronze. If only the singer had any idea. Oz ran a hand idly through his spiky hair, then found his palm filled with grit and a few splinters left over from the two-by-four he’d been swinging in the alley. Good thing it was dark in here. He knew he should clean up before Alysa Bardrick got here for their meeting, one which Oz wasn’t even sure he wanted to attend anymore.
Tired, still feeling the effects of the back-alley battle, Oz let himself drop onto a chair for a moment. Decisions, decisions. A day or two ago it had all seemed so black and white. Now someone had gone and thrown his life into that 256-shades-of-gray mode and he was trying to find the answer somewhere between the tones.
“So what’s the word?” Devon asked, grabbing a chair and spinning it around to where he could face Oz. “You think we ought to sign up with this woman?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Oz answered honestly. “This could change everything. We’d probably have to quit school, pack it up and head to L.A. Mondo-chango influence, man.”
Devon winced. “Drop out? Man, my parents would entirely freak. Why can’t we just keep on doing it like we are—weekends and stuff, except have her arrange the gigs?”
Oz rubbed his knuckles thoughtfully, finding a dozen skinned places. “I’m thinking Alysa’s going to want an all or nothing deal.”
Devon frowned, then his gaze cut over Oz’s shoulder. “Well, here she comes. I guess it’s time we find out.”
Oz turned and saw Alysa picking her way through the jumble of people, tables and chairs. She wore another sleek black outfit, this time a slightly shimmery pantsuit and long jacket, probably made by some designer that Cordelia could have named in an instant. When Alysa saw them watching her, she smiled a greeting but Oz could tell by the way this one, like her previous ones, didn’t reach her eyes that she was all business, no emotional involvement with the clients. She had about as much warmth as the heavily industrial song being played by the band on stage tonight.
“Good evening,” she said as she reached them. There was another chair at the table but she ignored it, seeming to prefer a power stance in front of them. She definitely liked being in charge. “I liked what I heard last night, so I’ve brought the contracts,” she said and slid a leather-covered folder onto the table. “The one for Dingoes covers all the band members for a fouryear term. There are separate ones for Xander and Willow, and I included one for Angel in case you can convince him to change his mind. I had to leave their last names blank, but they can fill them in.”
Devon blinked at her uncertainly as Oz watched her pull out a meticulously neat pile of paperwork. Four years? And Willow, Angel and Xander . . . a contract for a roadie? He’d never heard
of such a thing. “The rest of the gang isn’t around right now,” Oz said slowly. “I guess we didn’t realize you’d be bringing this stuff. They didn’t know they should be here.”
Alysa nodded. “Well, I thought I’d include it in case they were. But their parts can wait. Here’s the band contract.” She pushed a stapled stack of papers toward him and reached into her purse for a pen. “We can get that signed—page eight—and out of the way tonight.”
Oz sat back. “Actually, we can’t.”
Alysa’s eyes darkened although she managed to keep her expression pleasant. “Is there a problem?”
Oz glanced at Devon, willing him to be silent. “Just that we haven’t had a chance to talk to Mitch about any of this, and since he’s an equal part of the band, we can’t decide for him.”
Alysa’s eyebrows raised. “Mitch? Who’s that?”
“He writes all the lyrics for the songs,” Oz said smoothly. “Doesn’t play anything, so that’s why you’ve never seen him on stage with us.”
Alysa frowned. “May I ask why you haven’t mentioned this before?”
Oz shrugged, while Devon kept carefully quiet. “Like I said, we didn’t know you’d be bringing contracts. Mitch is on vacation with his parents. Cancun or something.”
Alysa blinked slowly, like a cat sleepily considering the next best way to deal with a troublesome mouse. “Cancun. In the middle of a school semester.”
Devon leaned forward and shrugged carelessly. “Rich people,” he said. “They kind of go when and where they want.”
Their wannabe band manager pressed her lips together, as though holding back a sarcastic comment. Instead, she leaned over and swept up the contracts, then tucked them back into the folder with her pen. “All right. But I’ll tell you right now that we need to wrap this up by tomorrow afternoon. I don’t have any more time to invest in this without knowing I’m going to get a return on it.”
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