Paleo

by Yvonne Navarro

  Xander grimaced.“Dino-bite?”

  Giles started to retort, then gave up. “Yes, more than likely.”

  Willow’s jaw dropped open. “Does that mean they’re in the museum with another dinosaur? Right now?” She looked appalled.

  “Did you find anything else?” Giles asked, intentionally by-passing the question. “I went through the volumes here but didn’t have any luck.”

  The redheaded teenager blinked, then made an effort to focus as she nodded. “Definite pay dirt, though it took me all this time. Take a look.” She swung her book bag onto the table and dug through it until she pulled out a stapled sheaf of computer print-outs. “This is what I finally came up with between the Internet and some vague references in a couple of my Wiccan books.”

  Giles was puzzled. “In your Wiccan books? You mean conjuring spells?”

  Willow shook her head. “No. I had to backtrack and search in an entirely different direction. Believe it or not, I started with protection spells I found—stuff to guard against the spirit demon Ladonithia. It’s old stuff and was buried pretty deep.” She glanced at Xander, then back at the librarian. “But I have to tell you, none of it seems really strong considering what it’s going up against.”

  Giles pulled off his glasses and chewed on the end of one earpiece. “There’s that reference to Ladonithia again,” he noted.

  Willow began flipping rapidly through the sheets of paper. “Yeah,” she said. “But once I got on the right track, the info was all there. I just couldn’t find it right off because the web site had it posted as graphics instead of text. It verifies that ‘Ladon’ and ‘Ladonithia’ more or less refer to the same thing. The suffix ‘ithia’ was just something added over time, kind of fancying it up.”

  “Let me see,” Giles said, leaning forward. He picked up the papers, reading aloud from the printed picture of a scroll where Willow indicated with a forefinger. “‘The four-headed Ladonithia is the netherworld’s demon parallel to the mythical Greek dragon, Ladon, and as such, while its host body can be destroyed, Ladonithia’s essence can never truly be vanquished. It sleeps deep in the underworld and will awaken only when called to the presence of a suitable host by the proper ritual, and the host itself must be a creature comparable in figure if not necessarily in size. Even then, Ladonithia is so powerful that it can only release its spirits one at a time, each into a separate host. Once it is able to instill all four spirits into hosts, Ladonithia must then meld all four entities into one simultaneously so that it can be freed, at last, from its underworld prison. When this happens, the unstoppable demon will attain its original gargantuan size and strength and will roam the world devouring the bodies and souls of mortals.’”

  Willow’s face was pale. “Did you see the woodcut image of it? Pretty beastly.”

  Giles frowned as he examined the printed image, an ancient-looking and not very detailed rendition of a flying dragonish creature with four horned heads atop muscular necks.

  “Wings,” Willow noted unhappily. “It has wings.”

  But Xander raised his chin confidently. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Its buddy system idea is a goner, cuz we toasted one of the hosts last night.”

  “Okay . . . so we’ve killed one of the hosts,” Willow acknowledged. “Now what happens?”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” Xander asked huffily. “I don’t recall you being in the ‘we’ group.”

  “Wait,” Giles murmured. “Let me read a little more . . .” He scanned the page, then tapped it when he found what he was searching for. “Here it is. ‘The spirit from a dead host transports back to share the original host—’ ”

  “Exactly!” Willow said enthusiastically. “That explains this one’s temper tantrum last night!” She turned to stare at the Timimus in the weapons cage, and it glared back at her. “It was being, like . . . invaded or something, when you guys blasted the other one by the Bronze!”

  “—until another host can be found.” Giles frowned as Willow’s words sunk into his brain. “That doesn’t bode well for its reaction when Buffy and Oz find the next one, does it?”

  “Assuming they don’t get chomped on,” Xander said carelessly.

  “Xander!” Giles snapped.

  “What?” He blinked, oblivious to the color draining from Willow’s cheeks. “They’re fighting something with three-inch long razor sharp teeth, remember?”

  “Xander, shut up,” Giles said, with uncharacteristic coarseness.

  The young man started to wisecrack, then ducked his head and at least looked ashamed when he saw Willow’s expression. “Oops. Sorry.” He was silent for a second. “They’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  Giles glared at him, then went back to the notes Willow had brought. “‘To return the demon to its slumber in the underworld for at least another threescore years,’” he read, “‘all hosts must be defeated, and the original host must be destroyed only after its spirit is reunited with its three kindred.’”

  “Not good,” Willow said in a raspy voice. “I mean, look at it now. What’s it going to be like soaking up a double dose of what it got last night?”

  “Why can’t we just kill it now?” Xander suggested.

  “It doesn’t say,” Giles told her after a few more moments of scanning the text. “But my best guess would be that to do so severs the ties between it and its sibling spirits. Perhaps the spirit or spirits in it then transfer to them, and this is the only way to guarantee that you have all four in the same place . . . thus a fair shot at returning the beast to the underworld. It seems best to assume the original host is the controlling factor.”

  “So,” Willow mused, “we would’ve all been better off if Buffy had just killed the thing the night she found it. Before any more eggs were hatched.”

  “What’s that threescore part?” Xander asked suddenly. “Some kind of football score?”

  “A unit of time, Xander,” Giles said in annoyance. “Twenty years—”

  “You have heard of ‘fourscore and seven years ago,’ right?” Willow stared hard at her friend.

  “It’s . . . familiar.” He looked at her, then Giles. “What—did I miss something?”

  “Never mind,” Giles muttered. He grimaced, forcing himself past another bout of Xander-related amazement. “Twenty is a score. If I’m interpreting this correctly, the demon can attempt to free itself approximately every sixty years.” He looked questioningly at Willow.

  She nodded and brought out some more printed pages, some from other parts of the web site she’d discovered, more from completely different ones. “I came up with dates where there were instances of weird stuff happening over the last several hundred years, most recently around dinosaur dig sites but before that, it was out west. A lot of it was tied up with legends and stories about creatures that could have been dragons. Back then they probably just didn’t know what they were looking at.”

  Giles thumbed through the stack. “And the last time was . . . ?”

  “You got it,” Willow said. “Just about sixty years ago.”

  “Which,” Giles pointed out, “would coordinate precisely with what Oz told me on the telephone about something he read in Kevin Sanderson’s notebook. Here, I wrote it down.” He showed her and Xander the scribbles he’d made about Professor Gibor Nuriel, but Willow’s indrawn breath made him realize they were on to something before she even read the remainder of his writing.

  “I saw that name,” she exclaimed. She scrambled to go through the computer pages until she found one detailing an old newspaper clipping. “This says he was killed in 1939 while on an expedition in Texas. His tent blew up from an unknown cause. All his personal effects were returned to the museum.”

  “Yes!” Giles said excitedly. “That would explain it. Oz said that according to Kevin’s notes, Daniel had found the paleontologist’s notebook while unpacking a storage crate.”

  “And if you go farther back, like I did, you’ll find another wacked-out incident about sixty
years before that.” She showed them yet another section. Willow began reading the short recounting, written in the stylized writing of the late 1800s, aloud. “This is part of the record of a pterodactyl skeleton discovered, again, in Big Bend, Texas,” she told them. “It says a drifter claimed to have seen a tribe of traveling gypsies performing a ‘suspicious ritual’ over a pile of bones late one night, then some kind of creature—presumably the pterodactyl—rose up and tried to fly. But because the beast had only a single huge wing, it succeeded only in dragging itself away.” Willow looked at them. “According to this, the sheriff formed a posse the next morning and it was hunted down and shot, the remains burned.”

  “Amazing.” Giles tapped another sheet of paper. “It was happening even back then. Presumably, each time the first host was killed, it shut down the process. But ours . . .” He glanced at the book cage, then thought better of it in hindsight. “If you read further in the text, it says that Ladonithia offers to fulfill a wish for the person who helps it return to Earth, but like the snake figure in the Garden of Eden, its motives are dishonest and the promise is a lie. If we tried, I suppose we could backtrack this demon’s attempts to enter the world all the way through recorded time, just by correctly interpreting the appropriate myths and legends.”

  “Oh, definitely,” Willow told him. “We—”

  “I hate to poop on your parade,” Xander interrupted, “but how does any of this past history stuff help Buffy and Oz in the here and now?”

  “As we well know, on the Hellmouth the past is not necessarily dead,” Giles said. “And Buffy and Oz need to know the current facts. If these creatures have some kind of homing instinct toward the main host, that information will likely assist Buffy and Oz in tracking and eliminating them before the beasts find their way out of the museum.”

  “Whoa,” Xander said. “Just . . . whoa. Them? Creature s? As in plural? You mean it’s already got all the dino-baby bodies it needs? When did this happen?”

  Giles blinked, then realized that in all the excitement over Willow’s discoveries, he’d neglected to mention the hatched nest. “As far as Buffy could tell, Daniel and Kevin seemed to have hatched three dinosaurs at once— ”

  “Oh, don’t tell me,” Xander moaned. “Two more like the one outside the Bronze, right?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I’m thinking a career as a barehanded traveling alligator tamer would be a good change of pace right about now,” Xander said, sounding anything but enthusiastic. “Please don’t say you want me to go find our pals at the museum and pass along these little news tidbits.”

  Giles pushed his glasses firmly in place on his nose. “That’s precisely what you must do. They’re in far too much danger for us to simply wait until they call again.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Willow said. “There’s safety in numbers, remember? We can watch each other’s backs.”

  “Oh, sure,” Xander said bitingly as he picked up the sweater he’d thrown across the chair a few minutes ago. “Think of it as an adventure, something amazing that you can tell your grandkids fifty years from now.” His mouth twisted as Giles saw the teen give him a final, dark look. “Because we just know that all this vampire and monster business isn’t going to follow us around for the rest of our lives . . . don’t we, Giles?”

  God forgive him. As the librarian watched the two teenagers file out of the library, he couldn’t bring himself to honestly answer that.

  Chapter 12

  “OKAY,” BUFFY SAID. THEY WERE BACK DOWN ON THE main floor just outside the museum’s small, locked souvenir shop. “We’ve covered both the upper floors and the door to the basement is dead-bolted. If we make a final round here, I’d say we can head on out. You’re sure we shouldn’t force that basement door?” Oz shook his head. “Bad move. I saw the connection to the security system at the top. My guess is not only will it bring the guards down on us, it’s probably wired to the police station besides.”

  Buffy looked around thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose if we can’t go in, nothing can come out, either. We might trip the alarm when we leave, but we’ll be gone anyway.”

  Oz nodded. “So which way now?”

  “That way,” she said, pointing up and to the right. “We’ll just make a big circle and end up back here. Then we can go back to that maintenance room and get out the same way we came in.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Oz agreed. “Lead on.”

  Buffy didn’t need any more prompting; she was as anxious to get this over with as Oz. But when they turned into the short hallway, they found themselves facing two different sections, both long and dim.

  “Split up?” Oz asked. “Behind door one, Gems and Minerals. Door two, American History.”

  “No way are we separating,” Buffy said firmly. “That would be way too far into the danger range.” They hugged the wall as she tried to decide which of the long areas in front might be more interesting to a baby dinosaur. Oz didn’t help matters by motioning to a sign overhead and a few feet directly down the hallway: AFRICAN MAMMALS. Damn, another choice. Did dino-babies like to hunt? Could be, but the odds were they’d favor live meat over dusty, taxidermied parts. She started to mouth off about this, then saw something on her own that added even further to their decision dilemma. On their left, down and across the pathway at the back portion of the main foyer that housed the two huge dinosaur skulls, was a smaller, more discreet directory sign. White block letters on a black background with a couple of arrows: NORTH AMERICAN MAMMALS, then FOSSILS AND DINOSAURS. Wasn’t that just peachy.

  “What’s that?” Oz asked softly.

  Buffy followed his finger to where he was pointing at something on the floor. At first, she didn’t see anything in the dimness, then her eyes did a force fit to the reduced lighting at shoe level. There, at the juncture where the wall’s wide baseboard met the floor beneath the directory sign, was—

  “A pen?”

  Oz cast a look toward the foyer to make sure the guard wasn’t around, then hurried over and picked it up. “Exactly.”

  Buffy followed him over, then raised one eyebrow. “And your point would be?”

  Oz’s expression never changed. “Just your average everyday ink pen.” He lifted it to eye level and let it dangle there, holding it by the very top with two fingers. “With blood on it.”

  Buffy squinted at it, and yes—he was right. There it was, looking black in the poor lighting, all over the pen. “Guess they don’t sell bloody writing tools in the gift shop, huh? What do you think?” she asked. “Daniel’s? Or Kevin’s?”

  Oz shrugged, glanced to the side, then slipped the pen into a trash container by the wall. “What’ll it be— fossils and dinosaurs?”

  Buffy gritted her teeth. “What else?” She eased around him and led the way. A quick glance into the fossils section showed nothing but a long, large room filled with glass-fronted shelves against the walls and display cases in the center of the floor, all glowing with muted light. A pretty clear view down to the end, and it would’ve been hard for something as big as the creatures they were looking for to hide comfortably in here. There was an exit at the far end, but she’d investigate that later if they found nothing in the next room.

  The dinosaur exhibit was something else again. The entry was a high, arched doorway over which hung a brightly colored banner proclaiming WELCOME TO PALEO-VIEW! They started to go through, then stopped. Buffy’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “Great. Could this be any more helpful?”

  Facing them was a room longer and easily twice as wide as the expansive fossil room next door. As with the rest of the main floor, the ceiling stretched some twenty feet overhead, but the effect was anything but airy. Instead, the prehistoric jungle motif—and really, had she expected anything else?—made it seem nearly claustrophobic. Greenery, some silk, some real, was abundant on all sides, while still running on low volume in the background was the theme that apparently carried the exhibit throughout the day. Hidden fans moved
air through the room and made it seem like gentle breezes eased through the foliage. Even the hard granite blocks of the floor were a mixture of green hues to go along with the theme, but there was no need to try to hide their footsteps here; the sound of soft roars, grunts and who knew what else would give them excellent cover. But it, as well as all the tropical-looking greenery, would also give the things they hunted the same advantage.

  No wonder nothing had gotten out of the museum. This was the perfect place for a baby dinosaur to hide.

  “Why is it so humid?” Buffy asked quietly.

  “To add to that authentic jungle feeling,” Oz answered. He glanced around. “They probably shut the humidifiers down at night to keep the exhibits from rotting out. Good job on the models.”

  Buffy scowled a little, but he only shrugged. “Some of them sure are realistic,” she noted nervously. “Never thought a museum exhibit would make me nervous.”

  Oz gave her a dry look. “Surprising, considering what I heard about Xander and that Incan mummy princess.”

  Buffy’s gaze flicked around the massive room, searching for telltale movement between the rustling oversize ferns and the fake dinosaurs. “True. But somehow I feel a bit outclassed this time.”

  “Maybe in size,” Oz said. “But not in brain power.”

  Buffy wasn’t comforted. “Who knows? Don’t forget that Giles said we might be dealing with something that has the smarts of a demon, not a dinosaur.”

  Oz’s face remained impassive. “Could be. If so, this particular one isn’t having much luck.”

  True again, but didn’t everyone learn as they went on? The way Buffy saw it, Ladon or Ladonithia, just kept trying by making more dinosaur copies of itself. She swallowed and squared her shoulders; she dreaded going deeper into this shadowy, spooky exhibit hall, but it was time to move on to see what they could find. While the scared part of her hoped it would be nothing, the logical part knew that if they didn’t find it here, they’d have to hunt it somewhere else, so what was the difference?