TIME OF DRAGONS AND UNICORNS
It was not a typical day in the life of the Ghostbusters; strange reports of mythical creatures kept being phoned in, but when Ecto-1 roared to the scene there was nothing to be found.
"Great," growled Peter Venkman, pushing his thick brown hair out of his face in exasperation. "It's not as if we had anything better to do than to run around looking for dragons and unicorns, now is it? Not that any of us could play unicorn bait, anyway . . . Well, I certainly couldn't!"
Ray Stantz, the youngest of the four men, blushed a bit. Since he'd lived on a farm, he'd grown up knowing the facts of life, but he was still unicorn bait in innocence, at least. Then again, Venkman was probably aiming the barb at Egon Spengler; it was Egon who wanted to check out all the reports. Egon shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
"Gentlemen, please. I doubt that any of us wants to be bait for anything, whether we believe in mythical creatures or not. There have been too many sightings for this to have been sheer imagination, although a mass hallucination cannot be dismissed out of hand."
"Maybe we shoulda brought Janine along -- no, probably not," Peter mused aloud. "She might be good dragon bait, though -- she could skewer it with her tongue!"
Egon glared at his team leader. "Maybe, Peter, we should put you in a dress and see if you're the dragon's type. Your tongue is quite as deadly as Janine's."
"Mass hallucinations . . . like Orson Welles' radio broadcast of 'War of the Worlds,' huh?" asked Winston Zeddemore, the fourth and last addition to the group.
"Precisely," said Egon, using his forefinger to push his glasses up to the bridge of his nose; as usual, the red-framed spectacles had their own idea of where they belonged, and slid right down again.
Venkman crossed his arms and scowled. It looked as if Spengler were about to go into lecture mode, and Peter seemed in no mood to listen to six- and ten-dollar words when simple English would do. "C'mon, guys, there's nothing here. Let's get back to Central; Janine probably has another wild dragon chase for us to go on."
Ecto-1 never made it back to Ghostbusters' Central, as Ray -- it was his turn to drive -- saw something as they were passing a small park on the way back home. "Look at that!" Stantz pointed, bringing the reconditioned hearse to a screeching halt that jerked Peter against his seat belt as he wasn't braced for the stop.
"Ray!" he yelped, "take it easy! We just bought tires last week!"
"Sorry, Peter, but look! Can't you see it?"
Winston scanned the area. "Looks like some sort of big hawk or something dive-bombing a guy in a grey suit. Wait a minute -- that's no hawk!" A gout of flame burst from the creature's mouth, and the man it was directed at barely managed to duck.
The Ghostbusters threw themselves out of their car, racing towards the activity. Egon had his PKE meter out, checking the possibilities of what the flame-breather might be, while the other three drew their particle throwers and powered up for firing. As they neared the scene, they saw that the attacker was far larger than they had at first thought, and the man was somewhere over six foot tall, thin and agile.
Just as the four men reached the area, the beast caught the man in the grey suit a powerful blow with its tail and spouted flames all over him as he fell. The man had enough presence of mind to roll and smother the flames, but the flying beast -- it qualified as a dragon to the Ghostbusters' way of thinking -- tried once more to flambé' its victim.
Venkman fired first, catching the dragon-thing in his beam, but it roared and managed to break free. "What IS that thing?"
"Dunno, man, but it's not affected by our throwers," gritted Winston, who changed the setting and tried again. Once more, the beast eluded capture. Ray was beating flames out, trying to keep the dragon's victim from burning to death, as Egon set his beam for a different range and fired. This time, at least, the beam affected the creature and it flew away, screeching its anger and frustration.
"Well," Venkman smoothed his hair back into place, "I guess there is something to the reports of dragons we've been getting. But that one little fire-breather can't be what all the fuss is about." Of course, the 'little fire-breather' happened to be about seven feet long and several hundred pounds, but that was still a rather small dragon to be generating all the fuss.
"Are you all right?" Ray Stantz asked the man he'd been helping. "It looks like mostly your clothes were burned." The shortest Ghostbuster helped the taller man up.
"I'm fine." The man glanced at his suit and made a face. "But m' suit's ruined. Thanks for comin' to m' rescue, though."
"No thanks are necessary," Egon said, playing the PKE meter over the man as if deciding whether there was any psychic residue worth noticing. A few odd pips showed, but then, the creature's readings hadn't been any that he'd seen before, either. "Why was that wyvern attacking you?"
The man gave an odd smile. "That wasn't a wyvern; that was a fire-drake. They're related, but wyverns are much larger an' lots nastier. As to why it was attackin' me," he shrugged. "I guess I was in th' wrong place at th' wrong time." He glanced about and picked up his grey hat and retrieved a large suitcase he'd lost when the thing had pounced on him.
"I'm Dr. Egon Spengler," the blond physicist introduced himself. "This is Dr. Ray Stantz, Winston Zeddemore, and Dr. Peter Venkman."
"More commonly known as the Ghostbusters," Peter added breezily, as if it were common knowledge -- well, it was common knowledge in New York.
"Call me Harry St. Cloud." He paused for a moment before he continued thoughtfully, "The Ghostbusters . . . Rather unusual work, ain't it? 'Til recently, very few people actually believed in ghosts, right?"
"You're not from around here." Venkman's green eyes narrowed as he looked St. Cloud over. "Even if you are dressed a lot like an old-time con man."
"Yeah, I'm a busker -- a street performer -- an' th' clothing is part of m' act." St. Cloud grimaced. "This particular outfit won't be used again . . . Until you fought Gozer, though, was there much belief -- or interest -- in th' supernatural?"
Ray scratched his auburn-haired head. "Well . . . not a lot, no. But after Gozer came through, it seemed as if a lot of ghosts and such decided New York -- and other cities around the world -- were good places to manifest."
"They don't like you much, do they? Ever have a time when they gathered together to try to stop you from your work?"
"There have been a few concentrated efforts," Egon admitted slowly. "I take it you have an interest in the supernatural?"
St. Cloud gave a crooked grin. "Yeah, I'm definitely interested in magic -- that's what I do, sleight-of-hand an' magic stuff -- an' that includes things I don't understand a lot about." He stripped off his ruined jacket and dumped it into his suitcase, along with his painted palm tree tie and battered hat.
Venkman scowled. "But you said that thing wasn't a wyvern. How'd you know that?"
"Maybe he's got a thing about dragons, Pete," soothed Winston, who seemed to sense the volatile psychologist was about to explode.
"Sure -- and those new games the kids are playing have all sorts of monster manuals about dragons and things. I've seen 'em in the comic book shops." Ray's warm brown eyes grew wider as a thought struck him. "I'll bet the fire-drake is in there."
St. Cloud looked a bit puzzled. "There are lotsa books on dragons, an' I've read several of them. Dragons happen to be something I'm very interested in, an' by learning as much about th' legends as I can, I'll -- " He stopped abruptly, as if he'd been about to say a bit too much, and closed his suitcase.
"You'll be able to what?" coaxed Venkman silkily, not about to let the subject drop.
Harry St. Cloud shrugged, showing his hands palms up. "Call it silly, I've always had this fantasy 'bout savin' a beautiful princess from an evil, fire-breathing dragon . . . Dumb, I know . . . "
The Ghostbusters looked at each other; St. Cloud didn't look much like a knight in shining armor, being rather tall and thin with straight, shaggy ash-blond hair, blue eyes hidden behind grey-tinted wire-framed glasses, a snub nose, thin lips and a long jaw. Venkman didn't think he looked all that impressive, either, but if he wanted to fight dragons, naturally the fire-drake would fight back.
"Leave the dragons to us; we know what we're doing when it comes to the supernatural," Peter glanced at the scorched spot where St. Cloud had rolled to put out the flames. "Even if dragons aren't our usual catch . . . "
"Kinda doubt dragons're much of anybody's usual catch; it's prob'ly th' other way around." Harry St. Cloud gave Peter a shrewd glance. "Afraid if I could conquer it, I'd take away some o' your thunder?" he grinned. "Doubt I could do that; everyone knows you guys, no one knows me."
Spengler's blue eyes grew thoughtful. "If you know more about this fire-drake, could you possibly come to our headquarters and tell us what you observed while it was attacking you? The information could be very valuable if we should meet it again."
"I'm sure you'll meet it again," St. Cloud said grimly. "I think it's tryin' to make a nest in those woods; if it gets enough food it'll be able to grow an' then it'll be a lot more dangerous than it is now. I'm not real fond o' th' idea o' bein' a big lizard's breakfast . . . "
"Do you think it'll try to get you again?" Ray glanced worriedly back in the direction the dragon had flown.
"Yup, I'd say there was a pretty good chance on it. From what I've read, dragons hate missin' what should be easy prey."
"You could stay in our guest room," Ray offered. Seeing Peter frown, he added, "I mean, until we catch the fire-drake."
"We'll see 'bout my stayin'; don't like bein' where I ain't welcome," St. Cloud drawled.
Peter heaved a sigh. Leave it to Ray to get involved with con men! It was obvious this guy wasn't going to get lost, even if Ray hadn't asked him to stay. For one thing, Egon wanted to talk to him about dragons -- as if their occult library wouldn't have the information! From the looks of things, Ray really liked him, too, and that wasn't setting too well. But Egon had a point; the more they knew about this fire-breathing monster, small as it was at the moment, the better off they'd be. Chances were, the guy would be smart enough to know he wasn't wanted at Central and would take a hike after Egon talked with him.
Ray reached for the suitcase, which St. Cloud held tightly for a minute, then shrugged and let go. "C'mon! We're going back to the firehouse now, and you can ride in Ecto-1!"
Harry sighed as he surrendered to the inevitable, musing on how he had gotten himself onto this crazy merry-go-round.
* * * * * * *
*It's about time!* he thought to himself as his prey finally showed itself. *Small fire-drake -- should be easy to handle.*
And so it would, had an antique automobile not suddenly stopped and four men jumped out. *Spit! Can't do anything to tip them off . . . Waitaminute! Those guys're wearing jumpsuits and carrying some sort of weapon -- the Ghostbusters?! Oh, great . . . now I'm really going to have to hold back!*
His attention on his four erstwhile rescuers took its toll as the fire-drake targeted him and breathed flame. He dropped and rolled, relying on his invisible shield to hold the flames on the surface of his clothing -- and then one of the Ghostbusters had to help beat out the fire. Mentally, he groaned, and released the shield. Luckily, most of the damage was already done, and no heat touched him -- trying to Heal himself while around these four would be no easy task.
Unluckily, however, the men -- except for the brown-haired Venkman -- wanted to know more about him, what he was doing there, why the firebreather had flamed him . . . more information than he was willing to disclose at the moment, or maybe ever. Still, arousing suspicions wouldn't help him find the
fire-drake again, or his true prey, its master . . . Nothing to do, then, but play along, see whether or not he could help them out as they tried to take care of his problems . . . and try to find a way to ditch them as soon as possible.
* * * * * * *
On the way back to Ghostbusters Central, Harry St. Cloud did a few small tricks -- Venkman knew how they were done, but decided not to ruin Ray's delight in the performance (and since Ray had once aspired to being a magician himself, he probably knew the tricks, too) -- and proved he was, if nothing else, a street-wise magician who wasn't about to put up with any nonsense or heckling from his audience. Peter's few attempts at barbs were met with an amused snort and a quick retort.
"Watch me pull a rabbit outta m' hat -- "
"You're not wearing a hat; you put it in your suitcase," pointed out Venkman with a superior air. "Besides, that trick's so old it's got whiskers!"
"'Zat so, grampaw? Think you c'n do it better? Anyway, th' rabbit has whiskers . . . " The street performer reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small rabbit puppet. "'Sides, I'd get arrested if I said somethin' like 'Watch me pull a rabbit outta m' pants!'" The puppet, firmly pulled onto his left hand, made a little bow.
"That's neat!" Ray applauded, preventing the two from fussing at each other any more.
Winston, who had opted to drive the rest of the way home, since Peter had already complained about the wear and tear on the new tires, interposed.
"How 'bout we stop an' grab a pizza? I'm starved; chasin' dragons is hard work!"
St. Cloud gave a rueful smile. "I'm a vegetarian; I c'n pay some on a pizza if you make sure half of it's meatless." He pulled out his wallet, which looked pretty worn, and looked inside. There were a few bills in it, but they seemed to be mostly ones and maybe a ten or a twenty in the back.
"Hey, veggie pizza sounds good to me," Ray put in, "and Janine's on a diet. Bet she'd like that, too."
Peter snorted and rolled his eyes; compared to most of the junk food they usually ate, an all-vegetable pizza almost appealed to him. Almost . . .
In the end, they all ordered their regular favorites -- "Pepperoni!" "Bacon and mushrooms!" "Everything but anchovies -- just meat." "Combination!" -- plus a "garbage can special" for Slimer.
"Oh, and one medium vegetable only pizza," Ray added to the list, as he reached for his wallet. "I'm going to pay for it."
St. Cloud tried to give Ray a couple of dollars, but Ray pushed them back at him. "Nope. It sounded good from the description they read to us over the car phone."
"I owe ya one, sport," Harry said softly. "Thanks."
"Hey, I'm gonna eat some too -- probably more than I should, so why shouldn't I pay for it?"
In no time, Ecto-1 arrived back at the reconditioned firehouse that was Ghostbusters' Central: the four paranormal specialists seemed glad to be back. Harry St. Cloud grabbed his suitcase and part of the pizza boxes, and found himself face to face with Slimer, the resident ghost, who had come prepared to welcome the men home and see if they'd brought anything to eat.
Venkman chuckled, waiting for an explosion, but instead of a yelp and a dropping of pizza boxes, St. Cloud simply handed the boxes to Slimer and instructed him, "No fair eatin' any 'til everyone c'n have a piece, got me?"
The little green ghost looked as if he were coming to attention and would've saluted if he hadn't had his skinny arms full of food. "Yeah, yeah," he said excitedly in his high, childlike voice. "Janine! Janine! Pizza! Company!"
Winston glanced at Ray, who had the other pizza boxes, and Egon, who were about as open-mouthed over the exchange as Peter was. Then the black Ghostbuster snapped his fingers. "You've read all about us, right? Including our friend, Slimer -- you've already mentioned Gozer -- you must be quite a fan."
St. Cloud ran a hand through his thick blond thatch, which parted in the middle and fell to either side of his boyish face; at a guess, he was close to Peter's age, maybe a little older. He nodded absently. "Yeah, I've read a lot about you guys --an' I c'n remember most of it -- an' there're quite a few mentions of your pet, there. Except he's not exactly a pet, is he? More like a mascot . . . "
"He's a pest," Venkman said succinctly, starting his usual litany of complaints. "He's a bottomless pit, a slimy spud, and we ought to have busted him a long time ago. But these guys like him, so . . . "
"Uh-huh." St Cloud shot the brown-haired psychologist a sharp look. Peter suddenly realized the man could see right through him, and it put him on the defensive. Before he could sputter out that everything he'd just said was true, the street performer raised a placating hand. "I gave Slimer the pizzas," he reminded them all. "If we want any, we'd best get to them before he eats 'em boxes an' all."
The four men took to the stairs, St. Cloud following a bit slower behind them, as he glanced about and took his bearings. He left his suitcase on the ground floor, intending to pick it up later, once he found out where he could stay -- if he decided he wanted to.
Janine had set out paper plates and pulled some soft drinks from the refrigerator by the time St. Cloud came into the room. The Ghostbusters were already seated, discussing the fire-drake and the reports of unicorns they were still receiving, and a slight frown crossed Harry's face, quickly replaced by a grin as Janine noticed him.
"You must be Mr. St. Cloud," she said in a pronounced Brooklyn accent. "Harry," he corrected her, blue eyes twinkling behind the grey-tinted lenses.
"But aren't we all? Well . . . " he trailed off as he glanced at Slimer, "most of us are, to some extent . . . "
Slimer gave a big grin -- a fairly intimidating sight to most visitors who weren't used to the little ghost -- and opened a pizza box. "Veggies?" He sounded a bit confused, considering the combinations on the other pizzas.
"Mine," Harry helped himself to two slices. "I don't eat meat."
"I'm not sure I can trust someone who isn't a meat-and-potatoes man," Venkman's jibe was slightly muffled by a large mouthful of pepperoni pizza.
"If your bite was as bad as your bark," St. Cloud observed with a lazy smile, "I might consider you dangerous. It takes a real man to eat pizza with onions, bell peppers, and jalapenos on it. Come to think on it, though, what you're eatin' might just make your breath a lethal weapon."
Ray choked on a laugh at the astounded expression on Peter's face. Winston hid a grin and Janine smiled behind her paper napkin. Slimer giggled, much to Peter's annoyance.
As Venkman opened his mouth to retort, Spengler interrupted before the one-ups-manship got too out of hand. "C'mon, guys. Mr. St. Cloud is a visitor; he may have information we'll need if we're to trap this fire-drake with little loss of property or endangering others."
"It might be a wood-drake," St. Cloud's eyes looked thoughtful behind his tinted glasses, "but I don't think so. Wood-drakes don't fly, and they usually have four legs . . . "
"Are you saying you've met dragons before?" asked Peter incredulously, his quips forgotten for a moment. Something was really odd about this guy, and he didn't like it one bit.
"More than one, from the sound of it," rumbled Egon.
"That's great!" Ray almost dropped his pizza in his enthusiasm. "A dragon specialist!"
Harry nibbled at his pizza, waiting for the questions to die down. "Well, I haven't really SEEN 'em, other than pictures in th' books, but I've tried to memorize most of them, yeah."
Winston studied St. Cloud for a moment. "You're not just a specialist in dragons, are you?"
"Not exactly," St. Cloud hedged. "I've studied lots of supernatural lore . . . I went to th' park because I figured that was where th' fire-drake would probably go. I've been trailing it f'r a while, an' thought I could take it, but it surprised me -- an' then you guys showed up."
"Just how were you going to take it?" asked Venkman, his temper beginning to fray. Who was this guy, anyway, who thought he could go in and single-handedly take on something it would take them hours to capture?
The man seemed to think it over before replying slowly, "I have m' ways . . . At least, I know th' theories . . . But I doubt you'd believe me if I told you how."
"Right -- you could trap Slimer there, without equipment? You're right -- I don't believe it. Show me."
St. Cloud shook his head. "No, I can't do that -- "
"Because you can't!" snapped Venkman. He shook his head belligerently and shot a nasty glance over at Egon. "This guy's gonna be nothin' but trouble, I can tell! Throw him out, Egon. We don't need him!"
St. Cloud just glanced down at his hands and then shrugged. "I ain't here to cause trouble. Dr. Spengler asked me to come, so he could talk to me. I'll tell you what I know, an' then leave. Ain't no skin off m' nose, an' I've slept in parks before."
Slimer reacted a bit badly at this; he began babbling and gesticulating wildly. St. Cloud seemed to listen to him, though, and simply shook his head. He closed his eyes and Slimer calmed down as if he'd said something to him.
Ray noticed this phenomenon and surreptitiously trained his PKE meter on the man, who looked straight at him as if he could feel the instrument. The occultist looked confused; the reading showed nothing conclusive, just odd bits of random information that showed St. Cloud had been in contact with something paranormal. That might even be because he'd touched Slimer when he took the vegetable pizza's box from him.
"Let's get on with th' interview, Dr. Spengler. I ain't stayin' where I ain't wanted." St. Cloud tossed his paper napkin onto his plate of barely touched pizza and rose to follow Egon into his lab.
"That guy's weird and I want him out of here -- and then I don't want to ever see him again!"
"Peter, take it easy. He's not staying -- you made sure of that," Ray said reproachfully. "He might have been a big help, too."
"It's not wise to alienate possible allies," added Winston. He got a dark look from Venkman for his trouble. "It's the truth, man. He may know something that we'll need to know, or may be able to tell us more about this fire-drake. It's just not smart to be too suspicious."
"Right," Peter snarled. "And if he's in league with this dragon, and tryin' to lead us to its lair so it can eat us, that's real helpful, too, isn't it?" The psychologist rose from the table and pitched his napkin onto his plate. "I'm goin' to take a nap. Wake me up when he's gone."
Winston and Ray exchanged unhappy glances. Peter knew he was being obstinate again, but he refused to admit he might be wrong. Janine started picking up discarded plates and putting them to one side. She was as used to Venkman's outbursts as the others, but she pursed her lips as if she felt in this case it was a bit unwarranted. Egon acted as if it seemed perfectly logical for Venkman to blow up at anyone who crossed him when he was in the mood to fight and ignored Peter's noisy exit.
Peter stalked to the bedroom he shared with the other three Ghostbusters, sat down on his bed and yanked off his boots, dropping them. As if that wasn't enough to cool his temper, he stripped off his brown jumpsuit and threw it on top of the boots. Most of the time, all of them were wearing casual clothes under their uniforms, and this time was no exception for Peter, who was wearing a dark green pocketed tee-shirt and faded blue jeans. He almost pulled off the tee as well, but decided against it, then dropped onto the bed, glaring out the window. After a few minutes of harsh breathing, he relaxed and laid back on the bed, hands beneath his head, and studied the ceiling.
He shouldn't've blown up like that. He already regretted it, but wasn't about to go in and apologize, not to St. Cloud or the guys. His nerves were on edge for some reason, and this street magician with a death wish -- going up against dragons was crazy! -- just didn't help.
His eyes drooped closed, but then popped open. Venkman hadn't been sleeping well, having odd nightmarish dreams that didn't quite stay with him once he woke. The problem was, the dreams -- or nightmares (daymares?) -- didn't limit themselves to the night, they showed up when he was taking a nap or dozing in Ecto-1 when it wasn't his turn to drive. He'd jolt awake, then realize how silly he looked. Peter hated looking stupid when he wasn't doing it deliberately, he hated feeling helpless, and these dreams made him feel both stupid and helpless. He could vaguely recall something about fires, and something nasty and sticky touching his face when he didn't want it to but he couldn't stop it, and some man he'd never seen before -- the man looked an awful lot like St. Cloud, though, it suddenly struck him.
He sat up and rubbed his aching head. Where'd the headache come from? He wasn't sure . . . But he didn't like Harry St. Cloud, OR his fascination with dragons. They both added up to bad dreams and big trouble, and right now, Peter wanted neither.
Unfortunately, he had the feeling he was in for a bad time and it was all going to center around dragons and unicorns -- except so far, he hadn't seen any unicorns . . . he didn't think.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes, longing for rest but dreading the dreams ... Before he knew it, his breathing became slow and regular and he finally succumbed to exhausted sleep despite his intentions not to.
I must apologize for Peter's behavior, Mr. St. Cloud," Egon began once the two of them were away from the table and in the hall.
Harry St. Cloud held up a hand. "No prob. It ain't me in partic'lar that he's mad at, he just doesn't wanna realize it. I prob'ly remind him of someone he's not fond of, or who let him down." The street magician shrugged and followed Egon into the lab, where he sat down in the chair Spengler pulled out for him. "An' like I said, I ain't here to cause trouble. I'll tell you what I know an' then get out."
Spengler had to wonder if the man had read all the interviews and histories of the team, since he seemed to understand Venkman's volatile nature. For that matter, he'd seemed to take most of the happenings as a matter of course, from the attack by the fire-drake to this latest flare-up of Peter's. He dropped into the chair opposite the magician and steepled his hands.
"Yes . . . well, if you could tell me what started you hunting dragons . . . "
St. Cloud hesitated as if deciding where to start. Then he shrugged again. "I don't expect you t' believe me, but I've always been drawn to th' idea of magic. I've studied as much as I can, and it looks as if almost anyone could do some simple tricks if they knew th' techniques behind it. From studyin' magic, it lead me to mystical creatures, an' from there to ghosts -- an' that's where I started readin' about you guys. Didn't expect t' meet you, of course, but there was always th' possibility . . . "
"Fascinating . . . " Egon opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a pen and pad. He made a few cryptic marks and then looked expectantly at the busker. "Go on . . . "
Harry paused for a breath and to think of how to start on his dragon quest. "Well . . . I was doin' m' act in th' park th' other day, an' I saw somethin' outta th' corner of m' eye. When I tried to look straight at it, I couldn't find it. Then, when I couldn't quite make out what it was, it was there again, like it was after me."
Egon frowned slightly, scribbled something else. "You believe this fire-drake is deliberately seeking you out?"
"Ain't sure. Mebbe I was just handy, since I'd been in th' park th' night before, sleepin'."
"That park is unsafe. You really should reconsider staying here." Ray had first made the offer; Egon now added his vote for St. Cloud to stay. He studied his equations and did not care for the solution he was getting.
"With your pal Pete ready t' take m' head off? Uh-uh, stupid I ain't. B'sides, I might be able t' find th' fire-drake again." St. Cloud drummed his fingers on the table for a second. "Anyway, I finally got a good glimpse of th' thing, an' knew it wasn't m' imagination -- there really was a dragon keepin' me in its sight."
"Did you also see a unicorn?"
Harry sputtered. "Me? See a unicorn? I don't think that's real likely, sorry. Kinda doubt any horn-headed horse is gonna be lookin' f'r me. Th' fire-drake, on th' other hand, might be lookin' at me as a possible meal."
Spengler nodded. He had already considered that theory himself, and made another note.
"Anyway, all I know about th' fire-drake from first-hand experience is, it ain't afraid o' men. Wasn't frightened off by me or any o' you, an' it was only when you changed yer gun's power that it took off. But it was cautious enough when I had a crowd o' marks -- when I had a fairly large audience -- around me, as if too many people seein' it might be somethin' it didn't want. Fire-drakes themselves're usually not as bold as this one; can't figger out why it decided t' turn me inta blackened busker."
Egon ran his hand over his long chin and then stood up and went to the bookshelf beside his desk. He glanced at the various titles and pulled one down, flipping through it as he came back to sit down opposite St. Cloud. "According to this, fire-drakes are rarely seen by large crowds, nor are they particularly interested in eating humans. Either your specimen is a rogue, or . . . "
"Or someone'r somethin' might be controllin' it? That's kinda what I thought . . . "
The physicist studied the book a bit longer. "I wonder . . . what could control a fire-drake?"
"A bigger dragon . . . a lot of 'em are related some way, I suspect, an' if a really large dragon wanted somethin' bigger'n a German shepherd, it might force a smaller 'cousin' inta doin' somethin' like stalkin' an' killin' prey f'r it, t' cache until it could come out at night an' get it . . . "
"You could be in very grave danger, Mr. St. Cloud, if you go back to that park tonight."
Another one of those oddly crooked grins, with little humor behind it, touched St. Cloud's face. "Got no choice. Haven't been able t' get up an audience since yesterday, an' don't have enough t' stay in any hotel that I'd trust much further'n th' park. I'll make out all right, don't worry -- an' one more street performer, more'r less, prob'ly ain't gonna stir th' cops t' investigate."
Egon shook his head. "I'd really rather you spent the night here. I can calm Peter down, or Ray can. I don't like the idea of us discovering your charred and half-eaten corpse tomorrow when we go back to look for the fire-drake."
Harry sucked on his front teeth regretfully and stood up. "No can do. Venkman's taken a dislike t' me, an' I can't say I'm much fonder o' him." He reached across the desk and shook Egon's hand firmly. "See ya tomorrow, mebbe." Then he turned and slipped out the door and down to the staircase, not bothering to say good-bye to the others as he passed by the kitchen.
Slimer noticed him going by and zipped out to babble something at his back. A shake of his head, another of those odd silences, and the little green ghost sadly went back to the others.
Ray also noticed the man leaving, and took another PKE reading. This one showed that something WAS going on, and it wasn't influenced by Slimer; apparently, Harry St. Cloud had some telepathic powers that he used to communicate with Slimer but didn't want to show the Ghostbusters that he had. That seemed a little odd and, his curosity piqued, Ray decided to follow the street magician for a short time.
St. Cloud picked up his suitcase on the ground floor and opened the door, taking one last look around as if to see if he had left anything behind. Ray crouched on the staircase, watching and monitoring him to see if any other readings could be scanned before he left.
Before St. Cloud could make it out the door, Ray picked up something that wasn't from Harry or Slimer. "Look out!"
Harry hit the sidewalk, rolling, losing his suitcase once more as two small dragonlike creatures dove at him. Ray charged down the stairs and out the door, to see Harry throw up his left hand, fingers split into a v-shape with the thumb pointed the same way as the fingers. A force gathered between the two gaps in his hand and sped out towards the mini-dragons. The two flying beasts seemed to knock into an invisible wall, stunning them both slightly; the bolder one tried once more to attack St. Cloud, only to be driven back by another odd gesture. Both of them took wing and flew away too rapidly to be stopped by any means other than magic . . .
Too startled to take any more readings, Ray stared at the disappearing forms. "Wow! How'd you do that? Where are you going?"
"I'm goin' back t' th' park," gritted St. Cloud, picking himself up and dusting himself off. "An' there's gonna be one sorry dragon if it tries anythin' like this again."
"You've got a dragon after you?" Ray grasped his arm. "And you're going to find it and fight it? That's too dangerous for one person!"
The magician shook his head firmly. "It's my business, Ray, not yours. I don't think I could live with myself if I let any of you get hurt trying to defend me."
Stantz blinked; the slangy speech was gone, and the man suddenly seemed perfectly capable of defending himself. Staring St. Cloud in the eyes, he asked bluntly, "Are you some kind of wizard?"
St. Cloud sighed. "I'm a . . . well, call me a dragon tamer."
"Wow! Winston was right -- you are an expert on dragons!"
Harry winced. "I'd just as soon not too many people knew about that, Ray. And I'm not an expert on all dragons, just some of them. I've been tracking a renegade for quite some time, and it seems to have found some disciples."
Ray tilted his head. "That could be bad, right?"
"Right. This particular dragon has a very valid reason to dislike me, and is quite prepared to kill me -- and anyone with me. I'd rather not have any of your deaths on my conscience, and if he can kill me -- well, you Ghostbusters may be the only chance to defend your world from him."
"You're talking as if you're not even from this planet," Ray said cautiously. "We've met with several beings from other dimensions -- some of them have even helped us, and we've helped them."
"I know, but . . . I'm afraid I'm used to working alone. And Dr. Venkman's made it rather clear that I'm persona non grata as far as he's concerned." Harry tried to gently pull away.
Ray's grip tightened. He could be very determined when he had to be, and he wanted in on this dragon quest, if only to keep a new friend from getting himself barbecued. "We've got a guest room. You're going to stay with us tonight, where it's safe -- "
"It may not be if I'm around."
" -- and tomorrow morning, we'll all go after this thing." Ray grinned suddenly, that boyish, enthusiastic grin that the others knew so well. "It'll be great!"
Harry sighed. "All right . . . I give up. I'll spend the night. But you're not to tell the others what I've told you, particularly not Dr. Venkman."
"Okay. But you're gonna stay?"
St. Cloud nodded. "Yeah . . . I'll stay. No prob." Ray noticed the ungrammatical speech was back, but figured it was for the benefit of the others, who didn't know he was actually from somewhere else besides their earth.
"Great! I'll go fix up the bed!" Ray bounced back into the firehouse, looking pleased with himself. St. Cloud gathered up his suitcase and followed the ebullient Stantz inside, mentally berating himself for probably getting all four men into serious danger. He'd hoped to get this task done on his own, without the Ghostbusters ever finding out.
*Herald CloudMage,* Harry thought, giving himself his common Mage name as he usually did, *you are in for a lot of trouble. Venkman isn't going to like someone influencing Ray -- and he's going to blame you for the dragon incidents, as well -- and his natural suspicion is going to make it very hard for you to get this job done right.*
That, and the fact the Ghostbusters seemed intent on locating anything supernatural that was about -- such as unicorns -- was definitely going to make this more of a problem than it should. He was going to have to be more careful -- Ray already knew, since he'd instinctively protected himself by magic, that he wasn't a harmless -- or relatively so -- con man, like he tried to appear . . .
Ray . . . Harry shook his head over his discovery of an innocent, in this day and age . . . who would've believed it? No wonder the other three men of the team could never refuse Ray anything . . . Whatever he had to do, he'd protect Ray Stantz and his friends to the best of his ability.
It was going to be tricky, though. Harry wasn't normally precognitive, but he'd had a dream. He feared it was a shadow of the future -- and if it was, then all the Ghostbusters might die, starting with Venkman. This team of paranormal and supernatural experts was -- so far -- about the only guardians of any sort this world had against otherworldly forces. Throw one telempathic Healer Mage into the mix who was having to dampen down most of his abilities to try to fit in and protect them unbeknownst -- not easy.
Luckily, he was used to this sort of challenge; he'd been planning his method of attack for quite some time. The Ghostbusters' presence was tossing a monkey wrench into those plans, though, and they weren't used to fighting enemies that played quite this rough -- or from what he'd been able to find
out, they hadn't. Harry's vision had shown a rather bleak future for the team if he weren't there to help . . . Not to mention their planet, if they were eliminated.
"He's going to stay!" shouted Ray as he jumped up the steps, taking two and three at a time. "Harry's going to help us fight the dragon!"
Harry winced. Oh, this was going to tick off Venkman royally, he just knew it. No help for it, though . . . if he was going to change that dream, he had to stay. Going out alone had just prompted another attack; if Ray hadn't called out a warning, he might not've reacted in time. *Never let your guard down,* he thought to himself. *Especially around folks who don't know what you are . . . *
* * * * * * *
Peter heard Ray shouting happily and groaned, rousing from a dreamless sleep. Sounded as if his little temper tantrum had just made Ray stubbornly determined to keep that St. Cloud character around . . . Venkman wrapped his pillow over his head and ignored the commotion as much as possible. Maybe he
could get some more sleep without bad dreams right now . . . Probably not. But he almost immediately fell asleep again, and no nightmares darkened his nap . . .
When he finally did wake up, almost refreshed, he found to his relief that St. Cloud stayed out of his way, keeping to the guest room Ray had ensconced him in. Peter noticed the man was polite enough, and would talk to anyone who came past the door -- mostly Ray and Slimer -- but he stayed well out of
Peter's range of vision and hearing, for the most part. The only time he met Venkman he stayed quiet and sidestepped him on the way to the bathroom. Peter probably could out-fight anyone who was taller and thinner than he, and he figured that St. Cloud was taking no chances of getting a broken nose or a
black eye. Not that the guy was much in the looks department in the first place . . .
Oddly enough, despite his irritation about St. Cloud's intrusion into the firehouse, he slept well that night. The next morning, over breakfast, Peter joined in the discussion of what they should do. St. Cloud wasn't up yet, and Ray was determined he should sleep in a real bed as long as possible. Egon had spread his research about dragons over the table for everyone to look at, as well as some sort of equation that Peter couldn't make heads or tails of, and was outlining his theories. Ray would look at a point and quietly discuss it with Egon, ignoring Peter who sipped his third cup of coffee.
Winston quirked an eyebrow at the other three. "Maybe hunting this dragon is a lot like a hunting a tiger."
"Goody!" Peter piped up. "We can stake St. Cloud out as bait and wait to blast the thing!"
"Oh, Peter," sighed Ray exasperatedly. "What's he ever done to you?"
Venkman scowled. St. Cloud hadn't actually DONE anything -- yet -- but it was pretty clear Ray liked him a lot and was following him around like a puppy hoping for a headscratch. "He's takin' advantage of your good nature, Ray. He's no good, I'm tellin' ya -- I know the type! I'm personally acquainted with
a con man, remember?"
Egon tilted his head to one side and slid his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "St. Cloud seems to be different than those you know, Peter. He's actually polite, and he hasn't stolen anything, nor has he stirred out of the room -- Slimer stayed outside last night, watching for him, since you were so upset. I think you're just letting your imagination run away with you."
"Yeah, Pete," added Winston. "I've known lots of bad dudes in my time, and this guy just isn't one of 'em. I think he's hidin' behind a tough, smart-alec exterior -- "
"Like me?" Venkman glared at the black Ghostbuster. Winston had just hit on how Peter usually handled things, and he wasn't sure just how much the others could see through his act, let alone a stranger's. "Look, he can stay until we get this dragon thing taken care of, but then he's gotta go. We don't
need a fifth member to this team, and he wouldn't fit in -- "
"Who said I wanted to be a member of your team?" came the soft question behind him. Venkman twisted in his chair; St. Cloud stood behind him, dressed in another grey suit that looked a lot like the one that had been scorched. "I wanna get th' dragon an' get outta here. This ain't my kind of place, yaknow? I like bein' a busker!"
"You don't make a real good living at it, though, do you?" retorted Venkman, brushing his hair off his forehead.
"Can't say you guys live much better. Any extra you make goes for new equipment, an' I know f'r a fact that your car is always gettin' totalled." St.Cloud met the emerald glare firmly. "You don't fool me any, so don't try. I'm only interested in th' dragon, an' then I'm scrammin' outta this town!"
"Good! New York doesn't need you!"
Ray grabbed for Peter as he started to rise out of his chair, fists clenched. "Calm down! That's why he wouldn't show his face outside of the guestroom -- he told me he thought you'd act like this!"
Harry started towards the stairwell, ignoring the potential fight. "Don't worry, Ray, I'm just goin' outside t' wait f'r you guys. Sorry about th' commotion."
"But -- you haven't had breakfast!"
"Ain't hungry," Harry shrugged. "I'll see ya when ya get downstairs." He navigated the stairs a couple of steps at a time, apparently unwilling to overhear any arguments about his presence.
"I hope you're happy, Peter! He hasn't done anything but try to help, and you're acting like he wants to slit our throats!"
"He mighta, if Slimer hadn't been bird-doggin' him!" Peter snapped back. "C'mon, Ray, the guy's hidin' something from us -- I can tell!"
Egon frowned. "Peter, I -- "
"No way, man! He ain't the type!"
"Peter, he wouldn't -- "
"Let him be dragon bait if he wants to, but leave me out!"
Silence fell for several seconds. Ray's brown eyes were huge, Egon's frown was more severe, and Winston had his arms crossed. Ray finally asked timidly, "Does this mean you don't want to go find the dragon?"
Peter was tempted to snap that he wanted no part of the dragon, either, but part of him did. The dragon was far more dangerous to the city and others than St. Cloud was to him . . . He scowled, heaved a sigh, then shook his head. "No, I'm going. I'm the team leader, right? If you wanna go out and get eaten by a dragon, I'm goin', too. If one goes, we all go . . . "
Not the happiest of thoughts, but they were a team, and where one went, they should all go . . . Peter stalked off to find a clean jumpsuit and join the others in picking up fresh traps and replenished throwers. This was not going to be fun. No matter what Ray thought, this was going to be lots of work, with no pay involved, and their lives were at stake besides. Not fun at all . . .
* * * * * * *
*Spit. I was hoping Venkman'd be in a better mood after some sleep. No such luck. He and I are never going to reach an understanding . . . * The Mage sighed, reached in a pocket for a packet of cigarettes, but had no time to light one before the Ghostbusters came downstairs. He replaced the pack --
the cigarettes, like much of his gear, was part of the magic act and were not in fact, tobacco -- and let Ray seat him in the back, away from Venkman, who was manning the steering wheel.
He closed his eyes and extended his telepathy unobtrusively -- these men might not realize it, but the constant exposure to preternatural substances was opening their own mental abilities. It was essential to monitor them -- and the dangers in the park -- as best he could without calling attention to himself.
* * * * * * *
In no time, Ecto-1 was roaring out of the firehouse and back to the park where the dragon had last been seen. St. Cloud remained silent unless spoken to, his eyes closed as if he wanted to be alone. Since it was Peter's turn to drive, he enjoyed the quiet as long as he could; his nerves were up and he suspected there was far more to this dragon hunt than they had been given to believe.
Once at the park, the Ghostbusters emerged from the car and grabbed their packs and traps from the back of the stationwagon. St. Cloud slowly stepped out of Ecto, his eyes still closed, and turned his head one direction then another until he seemed to have decided on something. "That way," he pointed.
'That way' was into the deepest part of the park, where the trees were thicker and sunlight barely made it through the close-set branches. It was the general direction the fire-drake had taken, though, so the team nodded and cautiously headed in.
Ray stayed close to St. Cloud, who seemed to be navigating by some sixth sense rather than looking for broken underbrush or branches that might mark where a large beast had gone. "Slow down." He held out a hand and frowned as he looked at one clump of bushes, then slowly pulled the leaves aside.
The parting leaves exposed part of a leg, not human, luckily, but definitely that of a fairly large animal, probably a dog. Since there was no collar -- there was no upper body left, for that matter -- it was hard to tell if this had been a pet being walked or simply a stray. St. Cloud pulled the piece out and studied it solemnly. The leg had been cut or bitten off cleanly just below where it would have hooked onto a shoulder.
"It fed pretty recently," he said softly. "That might be a break for us . . . might not." He carefully replaced the severed limb under the bush. "We c'n bury it later . . . "
"Why might it be lucky it ate recently?" Ray asked, a little sickened by the evidence that it had.
"It might be takin' a nap; if so, we c'n sneak up on it an' mebbe take it without any of us gettin' hurt. If we ain't lucky, it's still hungry an' might be awake an' then we're all in th' soup."
"That leg didn't look burnt," pointed out Venkman. "I don't think it likes its meals cooked."
Harry shot a mirthless grin at the leader of the Ghostbusters. "It prefers its meals raw -- and living. But circumstances might not've been in favor of it gettin' anythin' like that . . . "
"Until we come along," breathed Egon. "This thing might decide to -- "
"Yeah," St. Cloud nodded. "If it's still hungry, we'll prob'ly be invited f'r lunch . . . "
The four Ghostbusters exchanged glances; this was definitely not going to be an easy bust. St. Cloud seemed fairly unperturbed about the idea of confronting a dragon in its lair, but he was the only one. Ray had turned a bit pale, Egon had straightened his shoulders and shoved his glasses up on his nose, and Winston seemed to have snapped back to his days in the military.
Peter studied the clearing, noticing a large hole in the bushes. "Somethin' large must've gone through there."
"Yeah," nodded St. Cloud. "I already noticed. But I'm not so sure goin' that way is th' best way; that way is prob'ly bein' guarded by somethin' like th' fire-drake."
"Something like? Why not the fire-drake itself?"
"Prob'ly somethin' smaller -- somethin' that might be mistaken f'r a bird. This critter ain't stupid, don't think that it is." St. Cloud pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, started to tap one out, then shook his head and put them back into his pocket. "Might alert it . . . I know it's a bad habit, but sometimes . . . "
Venkman hadn't recognized the label on the cigarette package, but he just sighed. "Okay, Mister Dragon Expert, what do we do?"
Closing his eyes and tilting his head to one side, St. Cloud turned slowly as if scanning. Again, his arm came up and he pointed. "That way. An' it'd prob'ly be best if we stuck t'gether as much as possible."
Peter rolled his eyes; really, this joker was carrying things on too far! "Okay, we'll go that way for a while. And if nothin' shows up, we do it my way."
The group proceeded through the tangle of vines and brush; within moments, it looked as if St. Cloud was right. Something large had been through this part of the forest several times, but had retwined the vegetation to look undisturbed. In no time, they were within a few dozen yards of a large mound of dirt.
St. Cloud sucked in a large breath. "That's not natural," he blinked, studying the mound. "Try a readin' on it."
Egon produced his PKE meter and aimed it at the dirt. He whistled as he looked at the readout. "That is a sizable amount of disturbance . . . The mound is not natural, and from these readings, I would say something large and powerful lies deep within it."
St. Cloud nodded. "I suspect you'd better go back an' get some more weapons; this thing is bigger'n I thought."
Egon nodded; luckily, they had what amounted to a portable proton cannon in Ecto-1. "Right."
"Plus smaller helpers, I'm sure," St. Cloud sighed, ran fingers through his hair. Peter noticed a small depression, a scar of some sort, in the center of Harry's forehead; the blond mane had always hidden it before. "I'll stay here; you guys keep close together, try not t' get separated. It's dangerous f'r single men t' go about when a dragon's hungry . . . "
"You're stayin' here? Why?" demanded Venkman, suspicions aroused.
St. Cloud's blue eyes met angry emerald squarely. "Because I know dragons, an' c'n hide from it. What I say goes . . . or else you try t' take it yourselves, an' whatever happens . . . it ain't my fault."
Ray gasped, his hand flying to his mouth as if to keep the sound from escaping. "Come on, Peter. Let's go. If it's as big as Egon's meter shows, we haven't got a chance without more firepower!"
"Ray's right, man. Let's get goin'."
Venkman snarled, but acquiesced. "I'm the leader of this team."
"But I happen to know dragons. Get goin' -- it's got minions that might be spyin' on us even now." St. Cloud crossed his arms and seated himself on a rock. "I ain't goin' nowhere. If I ain't here when you get back, then chances are, th' dragon got me first. If that seems t' be th' case, get outta here while you can -- it'll know t' be lookin' f'r trouble. Come back later when it's quiet an' try again."
"But -- "
"No buts, Ray. If it's gotten me, then it c'n get you even easier. But I'll leave an arrow on th' rock t' show you if I had t' move, okay? Now git -- this thing is gonna start sniffin' trouble any time now, if we stay grouped t'gether. It's got a good nose, or its helpers do . . . "
Ray looked a bit sick, but nodded, biting his lip. Venkman noticed the hesitation and swung around, motioning his team forward. "C'mon. If he wants to stay here, it's his business. The quicker we get to Ecto, the quicker we can get back an' bust this thing!"
St. Cloud watched them go, shaking his head. "Venkman's gonna get 'em all killed yet," he muttered to himself, then settled more comfortably on the rock. Closing his eyes, he spread his arms out from the shoulders, his fingers once again in the "Vulcan salute" style he had used against the mini-dragons. He remained in that position until something caught his attention, then swiftly swung off the rock, drew a small arrow pointing to his right, and moved in that direction into the brushes.
As soon as he was hidden -- almost before he was completely out of sight -- an opening appeared in the mound behind the rock where he had been sitting. "Spit," he breathed, looking at the monstrosities that had come out. "The guys are gonna get grabbed for sure . . . "
Whatever the things were, they were not -- and never had been -- human. Frowning, St. Cloud searched his memory for what these creatures were. They combined a bit of reptile and humanity, but even walking on two legs did not make them less threatening. For one thing, the two snakemen had four arms apiece; that meant they were a variant of Naga, because Nagas usually had snakelike tails rather than legs. They had probably been either lizards -- that would account for the legs -- or snakes before being transformed;
somehow, these usually harmless creatures were being held in thrall by the dragon, corrupted into doing its bidding.
*This doesn't look good,* Harry thought to himself, wondering if he should intercept the Ghostbusters before they could come back and face the Nagas. He realized it wouldn't work; Venkman would only be more interested in rushing in to take the enemy rather than listening to reason. *Hard-headed, Pete, that's what you are . . . It'll be the death of you yet! Pity is, it'll probably get your teammates killed, too . . . *
The lizardmen seemed to be sniffing for something; well, let 'em sniff, they probably didn't know his scent from anyone else's. But they might detect and memorize the Ghostbusters' scent; the forked tongues flickered once, twice, before they moved with determined purpose, hot on the trail.
Harry stiffened. *Spit! Best thing to do now is go into hiding, try to help Ray and the rest as best I can without being too obvious about it . . . * Making an odd gesture with his left hand, Harry St. Cloud slowly faded from view . . .
* * * * * * *
"Okay, guys, got everything?" Peter glanced back over his shoulder; something seemed to be in the brush, probably St. Cloud chickening out. "I think we'd better split up. We can cover more ground that way -- "
"But Harry said we should stick together!" Ray's eyes were wide with near panic; he gulped nervously and shot anxious glances around the woods that he could see. "Shouldn't we -- "
"Ray, I'm the leader. What St. Cloud says doesn't go with me, got it? We do as I say -- I don't trust that guy, remember? -- and we'll be a lot better off."
Spengler cleared his throat, but said nothing, simply looking a bit worried himself; Winston gripped his proton rifle harder. Finally, the other three nodded agreement. "We've been a team a long time; surely we can do better than Mr. St. Cloud thinks we can," Egon rumbled, but there was a slight note of uncertainty in his tone. Facing dragons wasn't their normal line of work, after all . . . and they'd usually wound up hurt, but victorious, Peter reminded himself.
"Right. Let's go," Winston glared at the forest as if it were a jungle and this was war -- perhaps it was. Ray just looked miserable and bit his lower lip.
"We go in separate ways and meet back by that rock, okay? Shouldn't take us more than ten minutes. Let's go."
The four paranormal eliminators faded into the brush like phantoms, although none of them was particularly looking forward to this fight.
* * * * * * *
Venkman felt as if someone were watching him, but couldn't see anyone when he looked around. 'You're lettin' St. Cloud get to you,' he fussed to himself. 'Nothin' out there we can't handle . . . '
Nothing seemed to have changed as he prowled through the woods back to the mound, but still -- there. Another noise, like someone slipping along behind him. Probably Ray, maybe St. Cloud; the dragon they'd seen yesterday would probably fly rather than walk, and whatever was walking had only two legs,
not four.
If it turned out to be Ray, well . . . he was spooked, poor kid, might as well come along with one of the older Ghostbusters rather than stumble around and get lost. If it was St. Cloud -- he could get lost forever, for all Peter cared. Well . . . not really. If St. Cloud did turn out to be in trouble, it'd serve him right to have to be rescued by the men he thought weren't capable of catching one little dragon . . .
He stopped for a moment to see which one of the two it was. "Ray? That you?" he called softly. "It's all right; I'm not angry with you -- "
Without warning, something large leaped from a bush behind the psychologist, clamping a hand around his mouth and grabbing both his arms so that he couldn't pull his proton rifle. Peter struggled against the stranger, his mind numbly registering the fact that there were green scales and long sharp nails on the hand covering his lips. He could feel at least two more hands clutching his arms.
Another arm reached around and jerked at the buckles of his proton pack, loosening the device enough so that it dropped off during the operation without freeing him enough to fight back. He was pulled against a hard body and forced to walk forward, the hand that had released his pack fumbling with
the zipper of his jumpsuit.
Instead of being frightened by the strangeness of it all, Peter's volatile temper suddenly flared. How dare this freak lay hands on him?! What did it think it was doing, trying to take his clothes off -- no way! Peter bucked and tried all the sneaky moves he could think of to knock the thing off his back, but it just held on tighter.
It looked as if the thing intended to press him into the mound of dirt; Venkman balked as best he could, not wanting to be suffocated by the mud. That tactic worked for a few moments, but then another set of arms came through the mound -- blue-scaled, this time -- and grasped Peter's shoulders, pulling him through as the other thing pushed. Instead of being buried in dirt, Peter found himself looking around a large cave, once he opened his eyes, that is.
Facing him was a being as tall as he was, covered in scales evident even in the odd flickering light. This cave wasn't cold, either, it was rather warm; within moments, Venkman was sweating profusely. He slumped as if admitting defeat, then sprang into action as he felt his captor's grip loosen fractionally. He managed to break away from the one, only to be grabbed by the other, which used both sets of arms to keep him pinned. Yelling didn't seem to upset them; probably couldn't be heard outside, either, so why not let him yell? Evidently their hearing wasn't like a human's, even if they did have oversized pointed ears.
The one who had been holding Venkman captive appeared with a rope, and Peter tried futilely once more to escape -- where he'd get to in a cave, he didn't know, but he didn't want to be tied up! His nightmares were coming back; hot, unable to move, something sticky -- large, snakelike thing with a forked tongue licking at his face! He'd never been able to recall that detail before or maybe he'd suppressed it -- but he was being held too tightly. Before he could do much more than attempt to free himself, the rope was
wrapped in double loops around his arms, waist, thighs and calves, and somehow his wrists were bound behind him. Luckily the one was still holding him upright, or he'd fall!
The two snakemen looked satisfied with themselves, while Peter stewed, throwing epithets at them that made little sense even to him. "Your mother is a pair of slippers, and so are you if I get loose! You'd better hope I don't, I'll tear you apart with my bare hands! Snakeskin boots would go just
dandy with my jumpsuit, you freaks -- Hey! Put me down!"
With startling ease, Peter was suddenly up in the air, held between the two, who carried him a short distance away from where they'd entered. There was a pit in the floor of the cave, and for one terrified instant Venkman thought they were going to throw him into it; instead, they lowered him to a flat
rock and backed off.
"Right! Cowards!" Peter raged, helpless to do much more than mouth off and try to get some slack in the ropes binding him. It was all one piece, surely he could get it to loosen a bit if he could just get enough leverage to wriggle -- "What's that?"
A huge shadow broke loose from the opposite wall of the pit, and came slowly closer to where Peter lay. "Go 'way! I'll make boots outta you, too, so help me! What's the matter, you too big to have a rattle? Cripes, you'd make a whole snakeskin suit!"
The shape revealed itself to be a large, very viper-like head attached to a long sinuous neck; wings and two small clawed arms proved it to be no ordinary serpent. It would take the creature only four to five bites to make a meal of any of the Ghostbusters. It seemed to examine Peter closely, tongue flickering out between its scaly lips as if scenting the air. Peter kept up the running line of insults and retorts as best he could, fueling the fires of his anger and keeping him from being frightened -- god, he hated snakes, though! Snakes, bats, rats and cockroaches . . .
The thing's tongue flickered out, lapping at the sweat on Peter's cheek. He tensed, tried to get some slack in the ropes, but found himself as helpless as a turtle turned on its back. "Gah! Get away from me!" The forked tongue was sticky, and Peter had the definite impression it was interested in him as only one thing -- lunch. Or maybe it was breakfast, no telling with something this large. The dog it had evidently hadn't filled it up much . . . He clenched his teeth and let it lick, hating every minute of it; bound as
he was, he couldn't do much else.
Here were the elements of the nightmares, except for the man that looked like Harry St. Cloud -- heat, helplessness, something sticky touching his face -- and Peter wondered if it might be some sort of latent precognitive dream he'd been having, trying to warn him of this. Didn't do too much good now, the
snakes were all around him . . .
The serpent seemed to make up its mind, after one more lick. It glided back to its ledge on the opposite side of the pit -- those wings couldn't lift it, Peter realized, being much too small for its bulk -- and the two snakemen hauled Peter up and carried him over to what looked like a large hole dug into the rock. They dumped him in unceremoniously, not bothering to untie him, and suddenly there were interlaced stalagmites and stalactites barring the entrance. Peter growled, tried to get into a comfortable position and
glared out. How was he going to get out if he did get loose?
* * * * * * *
Egon Spengler glanced around warily; he heard noises he thought were Winston and Ray, possibly Peter, nearby. Glancing at his ever-present PKE meter, his eyebrows lifted as he discovered strange readings coming from directly in front of him -- he wasn't near enough to the dirt mound for it to be
registering this strongly!
"Whoa!" Something leaped out in front of him, but he managed to duck to one side, reaching for his proton rifle. It never cleared its hook on the pack as something grabbed at him and knocked him off-balance. Spengler's arms windmilled as his feet slipped; he went down, and promptly found himself
facing something that looked as if it were out of a nightmare. The blue-scaled face had long fangs like a rattlesnake, all too obviously bared and ready to be used.
Egon swallowed hard; this wasn't at all what he had been expecting. Discretion being the better part of valor, he meekly let his pack be taken and watched with interest as the two puzzled over how to unzip his jumpsuit in order to remove it. They finally succeeded and dropped the uniform on top of the proton pack and web belt that held the communicator, PKE meter, and rappelling link. He balked when they went for his suspenders and shirt, however.
"Uhm . . . take me to your leader," he said in as authoritative voice as he could manage. The two four-armed creatures didn't seem to understand him, but they marched him in front of them, poking at him if he dawdled. When he found himself facing the dirt mound, he stopped and looked around. No entrance . . . what did they expect him to do, walk through?
The green-skinned thing shoved him and he stumbled forward, through the dirt. Interesting . . . some sort of mental projection, perhaps?
Within moments of clearing the wall, Egon found himself standing in front of a pit. The two snakemen stood near, as if to make sure he wouldn't break and make a run for it; Egon ignored them and studied the pit, the walls, the -- snake? He frowned, took off his glasses, cleaned them with his shirt, then placed them firmly on the bridge of his nose. Snake. Definitely snake. Especially since said snake was now looming over him and looking down, flicking its tongue out as if scenting something.
The tongue came into Egon's view again, then darted forward to swipe at his cheek. Spengler grimaced, wiped the cheek where the sticky tongue had licked, and examined his fingers. Interesting . . . not quite what he'd expected. Spittle was seldom this viscous; what purpose did it serve?
The snake licked again, but Egon ignored it, preoccupied with analyzing the substance on his fingers. After another lick or two, the serpent gave up and glided back to its ledge, leaving its servants to dump Egon into the cage with Venkman.
Still trying to figure out what purpose the slimy stuff served, Egon didn't notice his companion until Peter cleared his throat.
"Oh, Ee-gon," the psychologist warbled, "I hate to interrupt you, but would you mind untying me?" The last was bellowed, as the big blond seemed to be ignoring Peter as well as he had the snake.
"Hmm?" Egon glanced down. "Oh. There you are, Peter. Do you have any idea what's going on? And why are you tied up?"
Peter growled as Egon dropped to one knee and started fumbling with the rope.
Winston eyed the forest warily. He was uncomfortably reminded of combat; he'd thought those days were long left behind. Odd how easily he'd fallen back into the patterns of jungle fighting . . .
A sound to his right made him turn, thrower in hand. The hum of the proton pack was loud in his ears. Winston saw a man-sized shape and started to fire.
Ray gulped and froze. "H-hey. It's only me . . . Have you seen Peter or Egon? The mound's right over there, but Harry isn't around -- there's an arrow drawn on the rock he was sitting on when we left . . . "
Zeddemore scowled and replaced the proton rifle. "A man could get hisself killed doin' that, Ray. Next time, make sure I know it's you, okay?"
The auburn-haired Ghostbuster nodded, still a bit frightened by the near miss. Neutronization was not pleasant, and from the sound that he'd heard, Winston's thrower was on full power. If he'd been hit, there might not've been anything left to show who it had been, let alone what.
The two cautiously made their way to the dirt mound, Ray slightly behind. With a yelp, Ray suddenly disappeared in the tall grass; he'd stubbed his toe on something and lost his balance. Winston sighed and helped him up; they both stared at what Ray had tripped on.
Ray's feet had tangled in a dark blue jumpsuit with pink collar and cuffs, lying atop an unbuckled proton pack and communicator-laden belt . . .
"Oh, no! Egon -- it can't have gotten Egon!" Ray grabbed the uniform and inspected it closely. "No blood . . . no tears . . . looks like it was unzipped . . . "
"Don't see any other clothes . . . " Winston mused as he glanced around. "Wait a minute -- "
The black Ghostbuster made his way towards an object lying in the tall grass and came up with another proton pack. Had to be Peter's . . . that meant the dragon had them both, possibly keeping them prisoners. Maybe it knew there were four of them and wanted them all for dinner?
And if the dragon had Egon and Peter, did it also have St. Cloud?
"Peter, too?" Ray chewed on his lower lip. "This is bad. How do we get them away from the dragon? Where are they?"
"At a guess, inside the mound," frowned Winston. "But I don't see any openings."
"I . . . I guess we should split up and try to find the entrance?" Ray's worried eyes looked at the mound. "I mean, we weren't supposed to separate in the first place, and . . . we . . . "
"I'm sure they're fine, Ray. No bones around, no blood, no pieces of anything or anyone -- just Egon's jumpsuit and the two proton packs." Winston hoped he wasn't being too optimistic, but somehow he had the feeling both of their partners were fine, but hidden. "We've just got to find the doorway in, is all."
Ray nodded. "Which way do you want to go?"
"I'll take the right; you take the left. Keep your proton rifle out and ready."
"Okay . . . see you on the other side? Of the hill, I mean!"
Winston hoped, as Ray did, that the slip of the tongue was not prophetic. "Or wherever the entrance turns out to be. We'll meet at one or the other."
"Right."
The remaining two Ghostbusters split up; behind them, the trees rustled and something -- or someone -- seemed to jump down, but nothing could be seen . .
.
* * * * * * *
Harry's eyes snapped open; as the two Ghostbusters split up, he slithered from his perch and set off after Stantz. So far, the team had been lucky; Peter's violent temper had kept him from being munched as the dream -- dreams, since Venkman had apparently been having them too, from the little monitoring he'd managed to do the night before -- had warned. Stantz was a primary target now. Spengler was too involved in scientific curiosity to tempt the dragon, while Zeddemore's combat experience would probably keep him safe until later.
Basilisk -- he was certain now which dragon it was from what he'd caught from Venkman's and Spengler's confrontations with it -- was slow and rather one-track-minded; it wanted to eat something sentient, soon. That meant poor Ray was likely to attract its interest.
Although Basilisk had been alerted to the Mage's presence, it didn't know what he was capable of, couldn't know, in fact, what powers he had. And if it could frighten Ray, use his awakening telepathic abilities to work against him, it would hunt him down -- as long as it didn't take too much effort.
Truth be told, Basilisk was pretty lazy, and just barely intelligent enough to be dangerous on its home world; but that made it all the more deadly here, where they weren't used to dragonkind's rogues.
This planet had its own magic, and he could work with it far better than the dragon, even though it did limit his abilities considerably. Luckily, it also dampened most of Basilisk's powers as well, so that it could only manipulate animals and not humans to do its bidding . . .
Time to follow and help the guys out -- for now, Winston had to look after himself; Ray was already getting spooked. Not that an invisible Mage was much company, but it might help save them all in the long run . . .
* * * * * * *
The two snakemen managed to grab Winston, but not without a fight. One of them had gotten a fist in the eye, the other a knee to the groin; neither seemed much affected by the damage. This time, they got as far as Winston's t-shirt and blue jeans before he stopped them.
Basically, Winston was just shaking his head over the entire thing. Where was Ray, anyhow? He shoulda heard all this racket! The snakemen pushed him through the mound of dirt and over to the pit. The snake slowly came forward, and the black Ghostbuster eyed it skeptically.
"Aw, man, I ain't believin' this. You call that a snake? I saw bigger'n that in 'Nam! This's a little bitty ol' baby snake compared to them granddaddies!" He stoically allowed it to lick at his cheek, scowled and
sighed. "You're gonna have to do better'n this to scare me. I worked construction -- I've stomped scorpions nastier'n you!"
The snake seemed rather disgusted; it turned and went back to its niche in the pit.
Winston also got hauled back to the cave and dumped in with Peter and Egon. "Hail, hail, the gang's almost all here," observed Venkman sourly. "Where'd you leave Ray?"
"Out looking for the entrance or some trace of you guys. What's it doing, anyway, with that lickin' shit?"
"I have a theory," murmured Spengler, "but I hope I'm wrong."
"Out with it, Spengs! Can't get much worse than it is now." Peter folded his arms and waited impatiently.
"I . . . believe it is trying to gauge our reactions. I was too interested in other aspects to be impressed; Winston seems to have disbelieved the entire ordeal. What was your reaction, Peter?"
The psychologist shrugged. "I let my temper get the better of me. I yelled at it."
"I ignored it."
"I just snorted."
"What reaction, under any other circumstances, would such a large serpent probably cause?"
"Dunno . . . guess I'd be scared."
Peter scuffled a boot toe in the dirt. "I'd probably wet myself -- I hate snakes. But I got too mad because those four-armed freaks were tryin' to strip me for no good reason."
Egon nodded. "It's probably looking for someone to fear it. Like some of the other preternatural types we've met, it's probable that it feeds off emotions as well as the bodies of its victims, when they're of high enough intelligence."
"Oh, man. And Ray's out there, alone, not knowing where any of us are and what might've happened -- "
"Correct."
The three men glanced at each other, now worried over their missing youngest member, who would, in all probability, be hauled in front of the snake within moments . . .
* * * * * * *
Ray had barely left the spot where he and Winston had split up before he became aware of something following him. He glanced back, but saw nothing; he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen just the same. "Hackles rising," he murmured to himself. "Fight or flight instincts kicking in . . . Probably nothing . . . "
He was trying to keep calm, but he was a bit upset and frightened. No telling what might have happened to Egon and Peter by now -- his mind's eye was giving him unwelcome visions of pieces of Ghostbusters lying about somewhere near, like that poor dog's leg -- and he wasn't happy at being alone. He wasn't a coward -- he'd faced Gozer and Vigo the Carpathian, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, the Boogie Man, Samhain, and lots of other major ghosts, demons and ancient deities -- but this wasn't the same as being with the guys and fighting for the world! This was one Ray Stantz against a dragon, an unknown quantity, that had apparently already made off with -- and possibly eaten! -- Ray's oldest friends.
This was definitely not fun and not great; this was unnerving and frightening.
The redheaded Ghostbuster circled the mound once, then twice -- no Winston. No trace of the other guys. What was going on? He sighed and sat on the rock Harry had once sat on, not so long ago. Where was Harry, anyway? If he was a dragon expert, could it have gotten him after he'd drawn the arrow? It
was all too puzzling for words . . .
Since he was thinking and not watching, Ray didn't see the four arms come out of the dirt behind him. He did feel them grab him, but by then it was far too late for him to fight back, and he was pulled into the mound. He found himself facing a four-armed snake thing with long fangs and glowing eyes that was bent on undressing him -- his proton pack was already off, now his jumpsuit was unzipped -- and when he tried to get loose, he landed on his rump on the stone floor, where his boots got yanked off. His uniform was shucked off rather efficiently, and then he lost his shirt, buttons popping off as the snake things pulled it over his head.
"Hey!" He yelped, struggling to get away from these things before he lost the rest of his clothing. "Leggo!"
That seemed to be as naked as they wanted him to get, though, and one of them pulled him to his feet while the other found a rope -- from where, Ray had no idea, he hadn't noticed it a moment ago, but when had he had time to notice much of anything except his being attacked? -- and tied his wrists behind his back.
"What's going on?"
The two snake beings prodded him forward, to the edge of a pit. Ray looked down, noticing bones strewn about the bottom, but nothing too recent; if it had eaten the guys, they went down bones, clothes, and all. He gulped and tried to back away, but that only got him grabbed again and held by the two
four-armed things.
Ray glanced at the snake beings on either side of him and decided they weren't going to listen to him -- or maybe understand him -- even if he did ask them questions. "Oh, guys," he breathed, "where are you? What's happened to you?"
* * * * * * *
In the prison cave, the other three were wondering why, when the others got grabbed, the first and second caught didn't see the proceedings. There should have been a clear field of view, even with the stalactites and stalagmites forming bars. Worse, they wondered why they could now see that Ray was being led to the pit; was it because the snake wanted them to be frightened, or just to show them what to expect next?
Peter growled and tried to shake the stone bars. Nothing happened, of course, and it seemed because they could now see the pit, Ray couldn't see them. Venkman shouted, as did Spengler, but apparently no sound was getting out, either. The temperature of the cave seemed to have risen again; for a short while, it had been cooler, but now the three Ghostbusters were all beginning to sweat.
"I don't like this at all," murmured Egon, wiping his forehead and trying to clean the fog from his glasses without much success.
"You think I like it?" growled Peter, trying to find the weakest stone bar he could. "Just think of how Ray feels!"
"He's not doing so well," Winston observed unhappily. "They're holding him for the licking business . . . "
* * * * * * *
Ray cringed as the long, forked tongue came at him, but was pushed back into range by the two four-armed creatures. He could see the snake wasn't just a snake, as it had tiny wings and short arms with sharp claws, something like a tyrannosaurus rex; meat-eater, to be sure, and it looked like he was dinner!
The tongue lapped at his cheek, tasting his sweat; Ray bit his lower lip and tried to be brave. He would've succeeded, too, if a strange burning sensation hadn't started in his brain . . . He meant to stand his ground, but there were these awful visions of the snake with past prey, how it enjoyed their fright and the game of catching them and finally devouring them . . . And then he saw Peter, Egon and Winston being chased and swallowed whole!
It was too much; the pain of the burning, the visions -- Ray screamed and managed to tear himself out of the snake men's hands. He ran blindly, stumbling into the walls and the rocks on the floor, but managed to stay on his feet and run some more. If he fell, he knew he was done for. With his hands tied behind his back, he wouldn't be able to get up. And without his shirt, and sweating as he was, the serpent would be able to swallow him effortlessly. Ray just didn't know if it would take him head or feet first; either way would be unpleasantly final.
The snake leisurely followed its prey, savoring the raw terror its telepathic visions had given the being . . .
* * * * * * *
"Ray! Ray!" Peter shouted, throwing himself at the bars. All he managed to do was bruise his shoulders, but he tried again to shatter the stone. He could see Ray being herded closer to them, but it was obvious the youngest Ghostbuster had panicked -- by what, the others couldn't tell -- and bespelled or something so that he couldn't see or hear his teammates. "I'll kill that thing with my bare hands!"
"Peter, it's hopeless to try to break these bars," remonstrated Egon, even as he also tried to find a way out, by kicking rather than using his shoulders. "We're probably next on the menu, besides . . . "
Winston just kept doggedly alternately kicking and hacking at the stone with the flat of his hands; maybe some sort of karate chops would do something.
Nothing seemed to work. Despite all their efforts, it looked as if they were going to have ringside seats at the snake's meal . . .
* * * * * * *
The rocks hurt his feet, since he wasn't wearing his boots, and the walls were scraping his bare torso; Ray kept running, hitting things, trying to forget the horrible sensation of his brain slowly frying. Even being eaten might be preferable to this!
Finally, he slipped on a rock and went down flat. He tried frantically to regain his footing, but his hands were bound behind him and there was something around his ankle . . . Ray managed to focus on the fact that the snake's tongue had him; he shrieked, kicked, tried to get away. Slowly, he began to be lifted in the air; this snake/dragon had a prehensile tongue!
Ray looked down the suddenly gaping maw of the snake and went white; the thing meant to swallow him head first! That meant a slow death, not a fast one; or it would seem slow, at any rate. He'd be squeezed by the throat muscles, but that probably wouldn't kill him; the stomach's acids would, though, once he landed there. He closed his eyes and waited . . .
* * * * * * *
"I'll kill it! I'll kill it!"
"You're gonna have to stand in line; I want to put some lumps on it myself!"
"Raymond . . . oh, my dear god . . . "
* * * * * * *
The snake was enjoying itself immensely; even now, when it had the prey in its grasp, the small being was still sending out waves of pure, raw emotion . . .
**Put him down. I'm here.**
What? What was that?
**I said, put him down, Basilisk.**
Something here that knew the proper name? What was this? Who was this?
Basilisk felt a sudden sharp pain in its right wing; it jerked, but did not drop its prey. **Who dares?**
A chuckle met its mind, someone unafraid of it, someone with great power. **You know me. I trailed you here. Let the boy go.**
**No! It is mine!**
The prey whimpered slightly, its head still hurting from the forced mental communication of Basilisk. Oddly enough, the prey did not seem to hear the other mental voice, or perhaps it was soothing . . . Basilisk rained curses on the unseen being that had broken its wing.
**I'll take the other wing out, too. You don't belong here; go back to our world and leave this one alone.**
Basilisk suddenly hurled the prey from it, seeking this new threat. A small blue sparkle appeared from somewhere, and the prey slowed in its flight, slowly drifted to the ground.
**You know you can't defeat me.**
**I have before and I shall now!**
Another crunch and the other wing hung uselessly; neither of them really worked, other than they proclaimed Basilisk to be more than just a large snake, even on its home planet. Basilisk narrowed its eyes and barely made out a two-legged form floating suspended before it.
**I don't think so.** With Basilisk's attention focused on him, the being slowly appeared; he seemed to be a blond humanoid dressed in a grey suit and hat and odd, tinted glasses perched on his nose. **Of course, you weren't aware I could change shape, either . . . **
With a nonchalant wave, the being grinned impudently; behind Basilisk, the cave bars slowly melted away, giving the three imprisoned men a chance to sneak out, grab their friend, and find a way out. The fact there were now faintly glowing blue arrows pointing the right way would help immensely, if they were observant enough to notice them. . .
*C'mon, guys, get with the program,* the Mage projected at the Ghostbusters. *Get Ray and get out so I can finish my work here and get home!*
* * * * * * *
"What th -- ?" Venkman almost fell through as the bars began to melt away. Zeddemore and Spengler caught him.
"I think we had best get Ray -- and ourselves -- out of here, if we can," murmured Egon.
"Sounds good to me. We can get the proton packs, get Ray to safety, and get back here. Maybe even get the cannon back, wherever this thing had it tossed." Winston had had the super-powerful proton cannon, newly re-sized to be small enough to be used like the older packs.
"Yeah," growled Peter, sneaking out to crouch beside the semi-conscious Stantz. "An' then, that thing is toast!"
Between the three of them, they managed to creep out, collect Ray and follow the softly glowing arrows. Ray's clothing had been dumped at the opening of the cave, and they collected that, too, on the way out to find the rest of their weapons. The proton pack Ray had been wearing was just outside; the others turned out to be fairly close by, as if someone had rounded them all up in case the Ghostbusters escaped the maze.
* * * * * * *
Harry St. Cloud floated in front of Basilisk's nose, teasing it, preventing its discovery that he had already managed to release its prey. Telepathically, he kept tabs on their progress; Ray's mind had been seared by the premature opening of his own mental abilities by the snake; as a result, he was easy to follow, the pain pulsing with his racing blood. Ray would have to be helped with that, either by closing off the pathways partially or temporarily until the constant exposure to psychokinetic energy opened them
properly.
Unfortunately, his attention became too involved with their escape; Basilisk managed to snag him with one of those almost useless forearms and pull him close, the claws ripping into his sides.
**I have you now!** Basilisk exulted, opening its mouth wide to devour this trouble-maker.
**I'll give you heartburn,** warned St. Cloud. **An eternity of pain . . . give up now, go back to MageWorld, leave this place; it's the only choice you've got.**
Basilisk's mental laughter was horrifying to hear, but Harry wasn't impressed.
. . .
* * * * * * *
"Ray? Wake up, Ray!" Peter had helped Egon redress Ray and put his boots back on, but Ray didn't seem in as good as a condition as he should. He was still sweating and looking sick despite the fresh, cool air. "Looks like we leave him here, hidden, and go back in. I don't think he's gonna wake up real soon."
Winston nodded, helped carry Ray into the underbrush and hide him. Then the three of them went looking for the entrance -- which seemed to have closed up again. Each one had originally been taken another way, and the dirt mound now seemed to be nothing more than a large heap of dirt with no entrances and
no exits . .
They began searching; that snake wasn't going to get away with thinking it could try to eat the Ghostbusters!
* * * * * * *
Ray stirred slightly, holding his aching head. He managed to crack his eyes open and discovered he wasn't in the dragon's stomach as he'd thought, but was outside the mound. He was dressed in his uniform, and his proton pack was here, but . . . where were the guys? Did they really think he'd let them tackle that beast without him?
Ray staggered to his feet, strapped on his pack, and went to the rock Harry and he had once sat on, walked behind it, and through the dirt . . .
He could still feel that nasty thing's thoughts; he followed them unerringly to where it had a new victim, a man in a grey suit. The man was hurt; blood was running down his sides, but oddly enough, it was the snake that was roaring.
Its hands seemed to be burning from something like acid, but all Ray could see was red streaks, and the man didn't seem to be smoking from the acid's effects. The two four-armed snake men were nowhere to be seen, although Ray did see two lizards, rather large iguana-type reptiles, one blue and one
green, seemingly confused, trying to find a way out.
**Last chance, Basilisk,** a voice murmured in Ray's mind; but it was soothing, cooling, not like the harsh, hot images from before. The calm voice sounded slightly pained, but not in desperate straits. **Go home. I really don't want to destroy anything here -- **
**But I do!** The pain roared into Ray's mind again, and he grimaced, trying not to fall to his knees. **Die, mageling!**
The dragon squeezed Harry -- Ray could finally see who it was -- but the man seemed to be ignoring his own pain and --
Ray blinked. Harry's form seemed to ripple, and he changed to something not -- quite -- human, with long flowing hair and white fur and --
Another ripple; Harry was even less human now, the grey suit gone and replaced by something vaguely Medieval in appearance, and --
A last ripple and there was nothing human being held by the dragon. Instead, a large, shaggy beast with a spiraling gold-and-silver horn struggled there. With a mighty effort, the unicorn thrust its horn up into the dragon's gaping maw, deeply into the mouth and up, piercing the bone and tissue, reaching the brain. The snake shrieked, its claws digging into the creature that had killed it; but it died even as Ray watched, its last shudders dying away as it slowly sagged to the ground.
The heat in the cave lessened; it looked as if the entire structure, held together by the dragon's will, was fading.
The unicorn was still lodged in the dead reptile's mouth; Ray hesitantly went forward and touched it, wondering how to get it free. It was still breathing, and unless he missed his guess, this wasn't just a unicorn -- this was his friend, Harry St. Cloud. No wonder he wouldn't show Peter any of his
dragon-taming tricks!
A weak movement of one of the cloven gold-and-silver hooves alerted Ray to the unicorn's attempts to free itself. He pulled, although it was a rather large unicorn, and not at all like the dainty things Ray had always seen pictured as unicorns, being built more like a Clydesdale or Shire horse, fully ten feet tall and shaggy, with blue eyes that seemed to pulse with the beat of its heart.
Then he realized the unicorn was free of the snake, but it was hurt. Its sides had been raked severely, leaving long, jagged rips that leaked too much blood . . . As soon as it was free, the cave slowly melted away, as did the snake, leaving its bones behind for a few seconds before they, too, turned to
dust and blew away.
The unicorn turned unfocused strobing eyes towards Ray, who knelt and cradled its head in his lap, stroking the neck. Tears gathered in Ray's brown eyes, but did not yet fall. With a tremendous effort, the mythical creature gazed at the redhead, eyes glowing faintly. It touched its horn to Ray's head and the burning, which had still been there after the dragon died, stopped. Quiet soothed the burnt nodes and lesions, healing the dragon's mental damage without Ray's being aware of it, or of how much the small effort had just cost the creature he stroked.
Egon, Peter and Winston surrounded them before Ray knew how they got there, but he glanced up at them with tears in his eyes. "He killed the dragon," he murmured, "but . . . I think he's dying . . . "
Peter looked at the unicorn, perplexed, not quite sure where it had come from. He shook his head as he looked at the wounds, and took his proton rifle from the pack, powering up.
Ray glanced up, horror on his face. "Peter! No!"
"Get back, Ray. It's hurt, an' we can't help it. This is all we can do."
"No! I won't let you! He saved me -- and you -- all of us! We can't repay him like that!"
Egon knelt beside his younger friend. "Peter's right -- we can't help it. It's injured too badly . . . " The lanky physicist put a hand out to take one of Ray's, heedless of the blood from the injured animal. "Please, Ray . . . "
Tears spilled then; Ray neither tried to stop them or knuckle them away. Several drops fell on the unicorn's face, as it breathed heavily and painfully; it seemed Peter was right. The unicorn was in pain and there were no veterinarians who would know what to do. "I'm so sorry . . . this should never have happened!"
Slowly, regretfully, Ray lifted the shaggy head from his lap and gently placed it on the ground. He stroked the flowing golden mane one last time and turned, not wanting to watch.
Venkman aimed, not entirely happy with this whole thing himself, but what else was there to be done? As he hesitated, the unicorn nickered softly and began to fade away.
Peter blinked, turned off the power. Ray whirled, to see what the others saw; the image of an imaginary beast slowly disappearing, fading into nothingness.
Putting the proton rifle back in its slot, Peter cleared his throat a bit nervously. "What say we call it a day and go home now?"
"Good idea," said Egon, and Ray managed a weak smile.
Winston took the rear as the others helped Ray back to the waiting car.
"So, where was Mr. St. Cloud during all this?" enquired Peter.
Ray glanced at him; didn't Peter know? He started to say something, but was stopped by the sight of a man in a grey suit lounging against Ecto-1.
"What took you guys so long?" asked the busker, puffing on a cigarette. The smoke, oddly enough, smelled like cinnamon and curled into elaborate shapes like question marks.
"So where were you during all the excitement?" demanded Peter, who had secretly been hoping that Harry had chickened out and ran at the first sight of danger.
"I was . . . around . . . " came the noncommittal answer. "You guys get th' dragon captured?"
"Not . . . exactly," murmured Ray, looking the man over carefully. No blood, no rips, no white fur or golden mane. . .
Peter growled as he put his pack in the back of Ecto. "We're goin' back to Central; you get your stuff cleared out, you hear?"
"Got it right here," commented St. Cloud, showing his battered suitcase which he had left at the firehouse. "I'll be on m' way . . . Oh, yeah." He dug into a pants pocket, came up with four business cards. "You guys ever find yerselves lookin' f'r dragons again, call me. I'll come help. Or, if ya just need help . . . "
There was the name "Harry St. Cloud" and a phone number embossed in glittering ink on the silvery cards; Egon and Winston carefully put theirs away, but Peter stuck his in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. "We'll letcha know," he said as he climbed into the waiting hearse. "C'mon, guys,
it's been a long day!"
Ray waited a few seconds, stroking the card before putting it carefully into his wallet. He looked at Harry, wonder in his eyes. "Are you . . . ?"
**It'll be our secret,** came the gentle telepathic answer. Harry lifted his grey-tinted glasses so Ray could see the blue eyes -- which strobed slightly with each pulse of the Unicorn's blood -- and winked. **I Healed you, just as your tears Healed me . . . I think that makes us friends, don't you?**
"I'll be seein' you," grinned St. Cloud as Ray climbed into Ecto. "Prob'ly when you least expect it. Take care, huh?"
Harry waved as the vehicle started up and drove out of sight . . . the smoke of his cigarette changed to carnation scent, the form curling into contented -- and slightly amused -- shapes . . . *'Bout time I got home; I'll check in on these guys later, but right now, I need to rest and Heal a bit more!*
* * * * * * *
"Be seein' us? Not likely!" snorted Peter. "Not if I see him first!"
Winston shook his head and drove directly home; since none of them had said much, waiting to get back for de-briefing, it was still startling to find that Venkman had fallen into a deep -- and it turned out, dreamless -- sleep, so deep the others had to pull him out of the back seat and carry him up to
the sofa. He never woke once during the trip, and didn't waken until seven the next morning, completely refreshed . . . and the others managed to have a good night's sleep, as well.
Ray looked at the odd business card before he went to sleep, touching the silvery surface; he didn't know if the others could see it, but behind the printing was the shadowy image of a shaggy unicorn.
(The end -- for now . . . .)