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Oxford, July 1987
For the umpteenth time that day, Rupert Giles buried his face in his hands. The dratted machine that the Director insisted was a necessary part of cataloging the new books had frozen again, and none of his notes from the solitary computer guru seemed to help.
The knock at the door brought him out of his funk. “Who is it?” he called, ever careful.
The voice from behind the door was youthful, male, and American. “Um, Doctor Jones sent me…is this Mr. Giles’ office?”
Giles went to the door and opened it. A young man past the awkwardness of adolescence gazed solemnly at him from behind thick round glasses. “I’m Rupert Giles. Doctor Jones did send me a note about one of his students needing access…oh, do…” Giles beckoned him in. “Sorry about the mess. Cataloging, you know.”
“I know.” His visitor stepped in, brushing his hand over his dirty blonde bangs. “Daniel Jackson.”
“Nice to meet you.” Giles glanced around to figure out which chair to clear, but Daniel left his book bag on the floor and squinted at the computer screen.
“I see you have the blue screen of death.”
“Um.” The screen was blue. “I suppose so. Do you know anything about…?” Daniel was already punching buttons and blinking at the screen. Giles frowned as the young man leaned down to fiddle with the tangle of wires behind the box that contained the main part of the computer. “I see you do.”
“Connections were a bit loose. Now let’s try…” Daniel hooked one leg around the rolling chair and dragged it underneath him without looking. His fingers flew over the keys, and suddenly the database program was on the screen again.
“Amazing. Thank you, really, I have no idea what I’m doing with this infernal machine. The card system was soothing, really.”
A smile touched the edges of Daniel’s mouth. “I know the allure.”
Giles found the note from Jones. “Jones says you are an archeology student?”
“Yes, that’s why he sent me to you.” Daniel knelt by his book bag. “He has me working on a special project for him, tracking down the history of a particular book. All my research indicated that one should be here, in the Special Collections section of the Bodleian, but it didn’t seem to be in the Duke Humphrey’s room.” He opened the bag and sorted through the contents. “The Book of Eibon, a 15th century hand-written translation. He wants me to make comparisons with earlier versions.” Daniel finally found what he was looking for. “Here’s his copy. I’m looking for Livre D’Ivon, written in Old French.”
“My word.” Reverently, Giles took the book. It was wrapped in acid free paper to protect it, but was in surprisingly good condition from what he could see. He placed it on the work table, putting aside newer volumes as he donned the gloves required by the age and condition of the volume. Next to him, Daniel pulled on his own pair of gloves. “Where on earth did you get it?”
Daniel shrugged, and that almost-smile graced his face. “Doctor Jones. Part of a private library he inherited when his father died. Now that he’s cut back on his teaching, he’s been going through it, donating, researching, etc.”
“Interesting.” Together they unwrapped the paper to reveal the cracked leather binding and handwritten pages on vellum.
“You say he wanted you to compare the translation to the original?”
“Yes. The source book for this was supposed to be here. But it isn’t in the catalog, and none of the other librarians had any clue at all.” Another disappointed shrug. “I’m not quite sure where to go from here.”
Giles thought for a minute. “We could check the back records. It will take time, but there is physical documentation of every book that has passed through this library. I do owe you for fixing that…computer.”
Daniel laughed at that, and they wrapped the book up again. “I’m an archeology student. Digging in dirt or in books doesn’t faze me one bit.”
Four hours later, they looked at each other across the table. They were surrounded by dusty record books, all filled with details of donations to the library. No sign of the Livre D’Ivon in any form through the 20th century, and they were just getting a start on the Edwardian era acquisitions.
Daniel shook his head and looked hopefully at Giles. “Break?”
“I think so.” Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Come along. I know a decent pub—that is, if you’re up for pub fare.”
With a smile, Daniel nodded. “Think I can handle it.”
~~~
Over fish and chips and a pint, they chatted about Daniel’s studies.
“Apparently, Dr. Jones doesn’t just mentor anyone. He has to see—something, I guess. Haven’t figured it out yet.”
“I haven’t met him formally. His reputation is unique.” Giles took a deep draught from his pint.
“Do you think he really met Hitler?” Daniel asked around a mouthful of chips.
“I have no idea. Though that is one of the more popular rumors that bruited about faculty gatherings.”
Daniel shook his head. “He’s a legend, that’s for sure. I guess I’m lucky, but it seems kinda weird, don’t you think?”
“How do you mean?”
The younger man chewed on his lip for a moment. “I’ve already got a doctorate. He could have any number of undergrads doing this sort of thing for him, and he has me doing it. I don’t get it.”
Giles shrugged. “When someone that prominent gets to a certain age, they are allowed a few quirks.”
“I hope I look that good someday.”
“Oh yes.” Giles grimaced. He wasn’t that old, and yet he still ached in the mornings before his daily jogs. “Perhaps it isn’t the research per se. Perhaps he truly does want more information on the book itself. You said you had the required languages.”
At that notion, Daniel looked thoughtful. “He did give it to me from a locked safe, and cautioned me to be careful. I thought because it was so old, but…do you think it might be the content?”
Giles checked his watch. “The clean room should be free. Are you done?”
Daniel nodded, mouth full of his last bite of chips.
~~~
Once again, they reverently unwrapped the book. In addition to the gloves, they also wore masks to avoid contaminating the delicate vellum of the pages with condensation from their breath. Each had a notebook, and they did their best to read together.
After the first section, Giles felt distinctly uneasy. The book purported to be a copy of a workbook of a wizard from Hyperborea. His experiments, spells, and research were detailed, though in a certain personal code that led Giles to believe they were missing something in translation.
He felt ill, but persevered in the reading. He could feel Daniel beside him, shaking, and at one particularly disturbing passage the younger man ripped off his mask to vomit into a wastebasket. Concerned, Giles checked him, but a muttered word sent him back to the table.
When Daniel returned, he wore a fresh mask and gloves.
“You all right?”
Daniel shook his head. “I’ve read a lot of freaky shit, but something about this is wrong. Do you feel it too?”
“Yes.” Giles sighed. “I think we need to continue, though.”
Under the mask, Giles could see Daniel set his jaw. “Right. Let’s go.”
By the time they finished reading the book, it was past midnight, and both were feeling distinctly unwell. Daniel hadn’t thrown up again, but from the look of him, it seemed like it wouldn’t take much.
“Do-do you think Dr. Jones read this?”
Giles stared at him as the realization of what Daniel just said sank into his brain. “Oh dear.”
“You think we should?”
“Yes, yes I believe so.” They packed the book carefully, though Giles shuddered when he contemplated what it contained. He shunted the thought away—better to worry about that later.
Giles drove to Dr. Jones’ apartment. They didn’t speak, merely nodded at each other as they knocked on the door. No answer.
Another shared glance of worry, and Daniel gently tried the knob. The door opened far too easily; the doorframe on the inside was splintered open.
The flat was a mess. Papers and books were strewn over the floor. Giles didn’t know Dr. Jones very well, but he did know that he would never treat books in that fashion. A slight noise caught their attention, and Giles reached for the stake hidden in his jacket.
A groan, definitely a groan, came from the direction of the kitchen, and there was Dr. Jones, moving slightly. Daniel rushed right over to him.
“Dr. Jones! What happened?”
“Got…jumped. Bastards.” With Giles’ help, Daniel got Dr. Jones sitting upright on the floor. A good-sized wound gaped on his forehead. Giles wet a dishcloth to staunch the bleeding, and asked the obvious question.
“What happened?”
“You would be Giles, right? Travers’ appointment?” At Giles’ nod, Jones groaned and leaned his head back against the counter. “Two of them. Broke in, knocked me out. Think they were looking for,” and here the good Doctor jerked his head at Daniel.
“The book? We have it.” Daniel patted his book bag.
“Don’t say anything!” hissed Dr. Jones. “Not to anyone! Well, except Giles here.”
Giles started at that. “Why me?”
Jones rolled his eyes expressively—it must be an American trait. “You think I don’t know? About Travers, who you work for? Most of these books deal with demons.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Giles kept his expression calm. Jones’ eyes flicked to the other man’s jacket, and Giles glanced down and saw the edge of his stake sticking out. Carefully he tucked it back in.
“Demons?” Daniel’s skepticism was clear. “No such thing. Aliens, on the other hand…”
“Aliens don’t exist either.” Giles shot Daniel a look.
Dr. Jones sighed. “They both do. I know. And sometimes the aliens and the demons are one and the same.” He glanced at Daniel’s bag.
Giles and Daniel followed his gaze. “You’ve read it too?”
Dr. Jones nodded slowly. “Spent the next week barricaded in my apartment, loaded pistol at my side. Didn’t know if it was for them or me.” A wry grin twisted the corner of his mouth. “I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff in my time, but this—this is different.” He looked around. “Dakota!”
A dog, some sort of shepherd mix, peeked out from the bedroom. He belly-crawled up to Dr. Jones and whined, putting his head in his lap. Dr. Jones fondled the dog’s ears. “You know, you could have done something.” The dog sneezed, and Jones smiled. “Coward.”
Clearing his throat, Giles cleaned his glasses. “I wonder if you have considered the ramifications of this information falling into the hands of someone who, I dare say, might have unworthy motives?”
Jones frowned. “Probably whoever broke in. Looking for this copy or the older one.”
A sudden crash from the window interrupted their discussion. Smoke billowed inside and Giles recognized the scent of tear gas. Daniel was choking and slumped on the ground, while Dr. Jones wrapped the dishtowel around his mouth and nose, eyes streaming all the while. Figures rushed in, and as Giles grappled with one man, coughing the whole while, another rushed behind him. Giles thought he got one good punch in before the world went black.
~~~
An insistent, vaguely familiar voice intruded on Giles’ consciousness. He mentally swatted at it, as though it were a fly annoying him while he napped, but it continued.
“Giles? Giles, please wake up. Aw, dammit, Giles, I don’t think I can get out of this if you don’t…and I think Dr. Jones might be…shit.”
Something wiggled next to him, and he tried to push it away, but his arms weren’t working for some reason. When he managed to open his eyes a slit, he realized that it was pitch black and he was tied up. One warm body next to him seemed far too still, and the other wriggled and talked.
“Mrrph?”
“Giles!”
Giles’ mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died, and he managed to unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth long enough to answer. “D-Daniel?”
“Oh thank God.”
“What ha—? Oh never mind. They got the drop on us.”
“Yeah, whoever they are.” Daniel squirmed again. “I can’t reach it, but I think I still have my scout knife in my back pocket. Can you get to it?”
Giles stretched his hands. There was some give to the ropes, and he could reach Daniel’s belt. “Shall I apologize for groping beforehand?” he asked wryly.
Daniel sighed. “Yes, and I forgive you in advance, now can we please get on with it? I don’t like the sound of Dr. Jones’ breathing.”
“No.” Giles stretched and Daniel scooted and somehow he managed to snake his fingers into Daniel’s back pocket to find the knife. “Are you sure it’s a knife? Feels awfully small.”
“Sharp enough to draw blood. You got any better ideas?” Daniel asked testily.
A groan from Dr. Jones drew their attention. “Whatever you do, just do it and stop bickering? I’ve—ow—got a headache the size of Greenland.”
Giles opened the knife and started sawing through the ropes. For the small size, the knife was surprisingly sharp, and he stabbed himself a couple of times as he sawed, and Daniel once as well. In short order they were free.
“Now, let’s see where we are.” Dr. Jones flicked open his lighter. “All present and accounted for?” Giles noted that the older man’s recovery was nothing short of miraculous, and filed that tidbit of information away.
Daniel gaped. “We could have used your lighter to burn our way out of the ropes!”
Dr. Jones shook his head. “That never works. Trust me.” The edge of his mouth curled up in a half-smile. “Let’s figure out where we are.” He checked his watch. “Looks like we were out for about an hour, so we should still be in Oxford.”
As they chatted, Giles found the door, and by logical extension, the light switch. “Ah! Here we go.” The room flooded with light.
They were in a storage room of some sort, squalid and filled with trash. Most of it was pushed up against the walls, and seemed to be packing crates of various types. There was also evidence, luckily old and dry, that goats were once kept in this room.
“Listen!” Dr. Jones pushed his ear against the door. “Do you hear that?” He seemed much better, almost energized by being placed in certain peril.
Giles furrowed his brow. “Sounds like chanting.”
“Chanting. That’s not good.” Daniel cleaned his glasses, which reminded Giles to clean his, and apparently Dr. Jones as well. “Do you think they’re using the book?”
All three exchanged looks and simultaneously replaced their glasses. “We have to stop them, somehow.” Giles said.
“Okay. What are our assets? Daniel?” Dr. Jones looked over at the youngest member of the impromptu team.
Daniel checked his pockets. “I have matches, the knife, an archeology brush, a pen and my wallet. Giles?”
“Cigarettes, lighter, pocket handkerchief, wallet, two fountain pens and,” he sighed, “a wooden stake.”
Dr. Jones rolled his eyes. “There are times when it’s an asset to be old. Everyone underestimates you, and no one searches you thoroughly.” A hidden holster on his calf contained a .38 pistol. “Look around. Has to be something else in here other than goat dung.”
Giles glanced at his watch. “We’d best hurry. Nearly midnight, and whenever you have amateurs raising demons, they time it for midnight.”
“How do we know they’re amateurs?” Daniel found a partly opened box and was prying it apart.
“Goats.”
“Oh.” With a sharp crack, the box opened. “Hey, look!” Daniel pulled a pint bottle out of the box. “Vodka!” He unscrewed the top and took a big gulp before handing it over to Dr. Jones.
“How much is in there?” Jones swigged some down before passing the bottle to Giles.
Daniel peeked back in the box. “Looks like a whole case, and I think the boxes underneath have vodka as well.”
Giles met Dr. Jones’ gaze. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I think so, Giles. Molotov cocktails?” Jones took the bottle back.
“Molotov cocktails.”
After the three rigged a good number of bottles as improvised incendiary devices, Giles checked the door. “Locked, but I think I can…either of you have a paper clip or a pin or something?”
Daniel dug a linty paper clip out of his trouser pocket and Giles picked the lock.
“So. What’s the plan?” Daniel looked at the other two men.
Dr. Jones shrugged. “I dunno, I’m making it up as I go along.” A cocky grin spread over his face, somewhat incongruous considering his age.
Giles thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve no experience in this sort of thing, but…Dr. Jones, you find the exit as quickly as you can. Use your gun to protect yourself. Daniel and I will disrupt the ritual with the Molotov cocktails, grab the book and follow you.”
“Shouldn’t we, oh I don’t know, check the situation out before making a plan first?”
“Good idea, Daniel.” Jones clapped the young man on the back, causing him to nearly fall over.
They crept out of the room and hid behind more packing crates to see what was happening. The situation was relatively simple. Beeswax candles lit the interior of the warehouse, presumably not too far from Oxford. Seven men stood in a hastily drawn chalk circle, surrounding a makeshift altar. One robed man, who appeared to be the leader, held the book and was reading from it.
“He keeps mispronouncing Latin like that and he’ll raise the wrong demon.” Giles muttered in an annoyed tone.
Daniel whispered in his ear. “I really hope you’re not speaking from experience.”
“Me too.” Dr. Jones pointed to the right. “That looks like the door. Think you can get to the book?”
Giles nodded and sniffed the air. “Hashish. Must be in the incense burners. Hopefully most of them are too drugged to put up much of a fight.”
“Drugs and demon raising don’t mix. Remember that, kids.” Dr. Jones shook their hands. I’ll see you outside. Don’t lose my lighter.”
“Best to get you to safety, sir.” Daniel looked around. “We’d better hurry; it looks like something is happening.”
Jones melted into the shadows silently. Giles and Daniel lit the makeshift fuse of torn alcohol-soaked rags, and hurled the bottles at the altar. The first one fell a little short, but the second landed directly on the altar. The result was most satisfactory; with panicked cultists screaming in fear and running away. Only the leader remained eerily calm, his eyes focused on a point just above the merrily burning altar.
“Bloody hell.” Giles could see the start of a portal of some sort opening. “Something’s coming through.” He grabbed Daniel’s shoulder. “Come on.”
The two sprinted out of hiding and tackled the leader. Even though he seemed to have smoked more hashish than anyone else, he still fought back. He got a good punch in to Daniel’s jaw, knocking the young man flat, before catching up a burning stick and fending off Giles with it. The fire was spreading—they didn’t have long.
“Get the book!” Giles yelled as Daniel staggered to his feet. He nodded and grabbed the book as the leader turned with a snarl. Giles took advantage of the moment of distraction to grasp his own improvised weapon—a crowbar leaning on a packing crate.
He hit the leader in the back as the man advanced on Daniel. As the man fell, he saw Daniel staring at him—no, staring behind him at something that must have been horrific, judging from the expression of terror on his face. A hot blast of air singed the hair on the back of his neck, and Giles knew he didn’t want to turn around.
*where is my tribute?*
The voice ruptured in his brain, not his ears. With all of his courage, Giles grabbed the leader and hauled him up in front of him as he turned.
The portal wasn’t a large one, but was filled with a wormlike creature whose gaping maw had thousands of jagged teeth. A voice, Giles could almost hear a voice behind him, begging him to do something. Almost out of reflex, or perhaps it was instinct, he pushed the cultist into that horrific mouth. The scream was mercifully short.
As the maw closed, the portal wavered and another voice joined the first. Familiar, what were they saying? Giles couldn’t tell, but something was drawing him towards the mouth that awaited him. He couldn’t think, could only move towards what he knew was his doom. A loud bang nearby made him stop, made him blink, the creature before him emitted a high-pitched screech of pain.
With a crackle of blue light, the portal snapped shut. His senses returned to him, Giles turned around to see Jones and Daniel closing the book. Jones had his gun in hand, and Daniel, ashen-faced, held another volume close in his arms.
The fire had spread throughout the warehouse, and the three dashed out of the burning building. They were about a block away when fire engines passed them.
Jones looked at both Giles and Daniel. “Let’s go home.”
***
The three lounged in Giles’ flat, which turned out to be the closest shelter and offered almost immediate showers, clean clothing and excellent whiskey.
“What’s that other book you found?”
Daniel held it up for perusal. “Don’t know why, but it was right near where the Book of Eibon fell, so I grabbed it.” A little line appeared between his eyebrows. “Cultes Des Goules by François-Honore Balfour, Comte d’Erlette. Interesting.” He started flipping through it.
Jones shook his head. “I don’t know about you, but what are we going to do about the first book?”
“I agree. Daniel, the Book of Eibon is too dangerous to just leave about in the library. Literally anyone could get their hands on it!” Giles leaned forward and waved his hand between Daniel’s eyes and the page.
Daniel looked up. “Huh? Oh yeah, dangerous book. I don’t suppose we could stick in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard'.” At their blank stares, he sighed. “Why do I even bother with pop culture references?”
Giles thought about it. “Actually, there are quite a few places in the library where certain volumes are intentionally, um, misplaced. Generally books too valuable to lend out, but in too poor condition to do anything else with.”
“The vaults.” Jones smirked. “Oxford’s answer to Area 51.” He leaned back in his chair and swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Safe for years.”
“I can bury the paperwork with little effort.” Giles said.
Daniel looked up again. “We-we can keep our notes, though, right?”
Giles and Dr. Jones just grinned at each other.
“Right?”