Stones Unturned (25 page)

"Yes, Mistress," they replied, one by one, these faithful few who had given themselves, heart and soul, to the ideals that Ceridwen believed in, to nature and the elements.

"Blessings upon you," Ceridwen said, for it was what they wished to hear.

She slid her hand over the ice, and their faces disappeared. The scrying pool was empty for a moment, and then she whispered ancient words and ran her hands over it again, attempting to use it as a window to see into Faerie.

She scried nothing but darkness.

There would be no seeing through to other worlds now. The magic that held the worlds together was trembling. The Demogorgon was coming. Ceridwen knew she ought to warn Arthur immediately, tell him of the conversation with the Harper and all that had transpired. But of course he was well aware of the Demogorgon's approach.

Arthur believed it was still very far away. Perhaps years. They would prepare for its arrival as best they could. Meanwhile, they had to combat the horrors that arose in this world.

Yet if the realms were so unstable now, with the Demogorgon still far off, how much worse would it get before the most ancient of evils arrived?

The question alone made her tremble.

Shuck lifted his muscular, black leg, and let loose a stream of steaming urine that scoured the brick wall and stank of vomit.

"Jesus," Eve said. "I'm not even breathing, and I can smell it."

"Yeah, their piss is pretty potent," Squire said, holding on to the beast's chain and waiting for it to finish. He gave the chain a sharp tug. "C'mon pal, we ain't got all night."

Eve scanned the city streets; her acute senses extended outward. "Let him sniff," she said with annoyance. "It's not like we've got anything to follow."

People coming down the street gave them a wide berth as they saw the large animal, one guy muttering beneath his breath that he didn't know it was legal to keep circus animals as pets.

"Now I'm just getting annoyed," Eve announced as they continued down Washington Street, Shuck's face practically pressed to the ground as it attempted to find a demonic trail.

"More so than usual?" Squire asked. "Dare I ask?"

"It's Conan Doyle," she said, glancing in the window of a store at a display of winter jackets and boots. When she found herself in a mood like this, she had the compulsion to buy. "I can't believe he's known who Danny's real father was all along."

Shuck stopped at a wrought iron trash receptacle, its sensitive nose taking in the various aromas that were left there, probably since the barrel had been installed. The way it planted its large paws, it was clearly not going anywhere until it was finished.

"Look, Evie . . ."

She quickly shot him the look.

"Eve," the hobgoblin corrected. "How long have you known Mr. Doyle? Probably longer than I have, and I know that the guy has his own way of dealing with things. Does he often withhold pertinent information? Fuck, yes, but as my good friend Billy S, used to say,
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.'"

"You didn't know freakin' Shakespeare," she scoffed.

"Who said anything about Shakespeare? I was quoting Billy Scuzzarella. Ran a gelato stand in Brooklyn. Fuckin' awesome gelato. But what I'm trying to say is that Doyle's got his own way of doing things, and he doesn't really give two shits about whether we like it or not."

A gaggle of teenage street kids, their clothes at least three sizes too big, started across the street toward them.

"Hey, what kind of dog is that?" one of them asked. "Is dat a Pit? Big motherfuckin' Pit if it is," he finished, his posse cracking up.

"We should probably get out here," Eve said. "We're starting to attract attention."

Squire gave the chain a tug, and the shuck growled menacingly. "You're the one that wanted to let him sniff," he said. "C'mon boy, let's get going, there'll be plenty of other things that stink."

The kid's friends stayed back, standing in the middle of the street, but it didn't stop the leader from heading over. "Hey, you hear me aks a question?" he asked, toothpick moving around from one side of his mouth to the other. "I aksed you about your dog."

Eve stood between the kid and the still sniffing beast.

"No, it's not a Pit. Satisfied?"

He gave her what he probably believed was his charming smile, trying to look past her at the animal. "It a mix?" he asked. "Looks like he's part bear or somethin'." He turned around to see if his friends had heard his latest gem.

"Yeah, he's a mixed breed, who doesn't like strangers," Eve explained. She was getting cranky.

The kid smiled again, and she wanted to tear the smirk right off his face.

"Is it only the dog that don't like strangers?" he asked. "Cause if it ain't, my name is Tyrell, and we ain't strangers anymore." He held out his hand for her to shake, and that was pretty much the straw that broke the camel's back.

Eve shook her head with disgust, stepping out of the way to allow the kid access to Shuck.

"Be my guest, Tyrell," she said.

The kid moved closer to the black-skinned beast, his friends egging him on.

"This is a bad idea, kid," Squire said, having given up trying to move Shuck along.

"Don't worry, Squire," Eve told him. "Tyrell just want to make friends, isn't that right, Tyrell?"

The kid smiled again, squatting down to Shuck's level and extending his hand for it to smell. "Yo, big dog," he made a strange sound with his mouth trying to get Shuck's attention. "I'm talkin' to you."

Shuck was a blur. He knocked Tyrell down and sprang onto the punk's chest, nearly pulling Squire off his feet. The shuck had the kid's arm buried in its mouth up to his elbow, and the kid was screaming.

"Ah, shit!" Squire said, pulling back on the leash, trying to get the animal off of the kid. Shuck wouldn't budge, his growl sounding like the engine of a heavy piece of machinery.

Eve stifled a laugh as she watched Tyrell's terrified friends take off down the street, leaving their buddy to his fate. He was crying now, his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to look at the nightmarish visage that was perched over him, with his arm buried in its mouth.

She could just imagine how nasty
that
must have felt.

Eve approached the beast, bending over to whisper in its black velvet ear. "Let go."

Shuck growled louder, looking at her from the corner of its eye.

Tyrell was shrieking now, thrashing beneath the beast's weight, but getting absolutely nowhere.

"Maybe if we smash him over the head with something really heavy he'll only take the arm," Squire suggested.

Eve ignored the hobgoblin, reaching out to take Shuck's ear in her hand and twisting it. "Did you hear me?" she scolded. "Let go!"

Its growl intensified, but still she held on to the ear, bringing her own face closer to its own. "Let. Go."

Shuck pulled back its head, dropping Tyrell's arm from its mouth. From what she could see, the arm was still intact, although the jacket was a lost cause.

"Good boy," she said happily, letting go of its ear. "Now, let's get out of here."

They left the kid moaning in the street.

"So what now?" Squire asked, tugging on the leash to make the beast keep pace with them. "We're getting absolutely nowhere with this. Who knows if he's still even in the area."

"No, they're around here somewhere," Eve said, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat as they walked toward the Common. "Our demon daddy seems to have a thing for Bean Town, enough to have left two of his kids behind. Nope, I think he's still here somewhere, and I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that Danny's with him."

"Dollars to doughnuts?" Squire asked. "How old
are
you?"

She gave him a glance from the corner of her eye.

"Never mind," he said. "Where are we going anyway? We've pretty much handled Tremont Street and —"

"Boylston," she said.

Squire stopped, tugging back on Shuck's leash to make him stop as well. Eve continued on through the Common on her way toward the Public Garden.

"Why are we going to Boylston?" the goblin asked. "And it better not be for the reason I think it is."

Eve turned around, walking backward as she spoke. "It's the only place I can think of to pick up a trail."

"No, Eve," Squire said, shaking his large head. "We can't go there — it's forbidden. Mr. Doyle had to call in a lot of favors to fix stuff the last time you paid them a visit. We have a truce now. We stay out of Peking Tommy's, and they don't organize a hunting party to take you out."

"I needed information that I knew they had," she said, smiling as she remembered her last visit to the Chinese restaurant that was kind of a neutral zone to the various supernatural beings that called the city of Boston their home.

Most of them didn't care for Conan Doyle and his Menagerie. They didn't think the mage had a right to interfere with the various breeds of monsters and magical creatures that had filtered in from other dimensions over the ages and made their lives in the midst of human cities, with people none the wiser. They were all for letting the current dominant species tumble to the back of the line to make way for another — preferably one of their own.

"I admit things got a little out of hand," Eve said. "But I got what I went in for."

"You trashed the place — never mind the netherfolk you fucked up in the process."

"They shouldn't have lied to me."

"We can't go there, Eve," Squire said. "It could make a bad situation a hell of a lot worse."

She walked over to him, feeling her ire on the rise. "Look," she said, staring him down. Even Shuck backed up with a frightened whine. "I'm getting tired of the bullshit. This is the second night we've been out here with nothing to show for it. This demon's clever, I'll give him that, but he needs to be found. So does Danny. And your fucking bloodhound here isn't doing shit."

Shuck tilted his head to one side and whined.

"I just don't think it's a good idea, Eve," Squire said.

"We told Julia we'd find Danny and bring him home," she said. "Do you want to listen to her sob when we come home empty-handed?"

Squire said nothing.

"Come on," she said, putting on her nicest smile. "I promise to be good."

Since Danny Ferrick had come to live in his home, Conan Doyle had done his best to treat the boy with respect. The most vital element of this had been to provide the boy with a sense of privacy. Danny already believed — and rightly so — that the primary reason he'd been invited to reside here was so that Conan Doyle and the others could keep watch over him. Yes, it was true he would be more comfortable around individuals who would not be troubled by his nature and that he would not suffer the slings and arrows of those who would be cruel to him — or be terrified of him — because of his appearance.

But the young man had been afraid of his demonic nature. Conan Doyle knew that for all of his bluster, Danny wanted to become a part of the Menagerie and help to combat the forces of darkness because he wished to combat that darkness in himself.

And Conan Doyle had all but convinced himself that the boy was succeeding. The arrival of the young man's demon-father had complicated matters, but it had been easy for Conan Doyle to ascribe Danny's behavior to the shadowy influence of his sire.

Now he felt like a fool.

He felt sure there was more at work here than the return of Danny's demon-father. Thus, any privacy he had afforded the boy in his home must now be sacrificed for his well-being. A demon was at large — perhaps two — and they had to be stopped, no matter what it cost in blood or broken trust.

The door was locked. Conan Doyle shook his head. To think that any room in his own house could be locked against him. He waved a hand, and a tiny, nearly invisible spark of magic jumped from his index finger and touched the knob. The lock clicked, and the door swung open several inches.

Gently, he pushed it farther, opening it wide, and he stood on the threshold surveying the room, trying to see what Danny would see when he entered his own room. The last time Conan Doyle had stood here, all he had been able to see was the mess. It was difficult to see such squalor in his own home and not attend to it, but he had not wanted to coddle or interfere with the boy.

Now, he had to see past that mess, for surely Danny would not notice it. Several things stood out to him immediately. Without asking, the boy had nailed a hat rack up on the wall. Half a dozen different hats hung there, from a Boston Red Sox cap to an old-fashioned Stetson.

Anything to cover the horns that had humiliated him so much.

The hat rack was the only spot of neatness in the entire room. Danny favored hooded sweatshirts to cover his small prongs, but the hats appeared almost to be waiting, held in abeyance, for a time when a sweatshirt hood would not be sufficient to hide the horns.

Danny knew they were growing. Of course he did. And he knew they would continue to grow.

There were books and old compact discs strewn around the room among the filthy clothes. But the books were buried, while most of the CDs were on top, and some were spread upon the bed. His MP3 player and the small computer his mother had bought him sat on the desk against the far wall. CDs had been stacked all around, music he had borrowed from Squire and Eve.

The music he had continued to pursue, but he had not read anything in quite some time, this young man who had once loved to read sports biographies and mystery novels.

Conan Doyle also noticed a conspicuous absence in the room. Once, Danny had kept a great many photographs of his mother and of himself as a child, some featuring friends he surely no longer had. There were no more photographs in the room.

He entered.

Something caught his eye, and he turned to peer through the open bathroom door to see that shards of mirror glass littered the floor and the sink. Conan Doyle stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light. The switch felt rough, and he glanced at it to see that a dark streak of blood had dried there.

He frowned and went to look at the mirror. Shattered, presumably by Danny's fist.