Tears of the Furies (A Novel of the Menagerie) (22 page)

Danny repositioned his feet on the slick surface and hauled
back upon his door. "Fuck . . . you," he snarled with exertion and,
for a moment, succeeded in keeping his side open as well.

Conan Doyle reached the doorway, stopping to allow Ceridwen
to pass. "After you, my dear,"

"Cut the gentlemanly bullshit, would you?" Eve
grunted. "My arms are coming out of the sockets any second now."

"There’s always time for manners, Eve," Conan
Doyle chided, following the Fey sorceress into the darkness of the Underworld.

"What’s the matter Eve?" Danny asked, his voice
strained. "Door a little heavy for you?"

"It’s a good thing I like you, kid," she said
letting go of her door and reaching across to grab Danny by the ear. The boy
growled as she pulled him toward her, and the two tumbled to the ground in a
heap upon the cave floor, as the twin doors slammed shut with a resounding
echo.

Eve landed astride the demon boy and smiled down on him. She
grabbed hold of the leathery flesh of his cheek and gave it a pinch. "I
could have left you outside on the ledge," she said, crawling off of him. "And
maybe you’ll wish I had."

He smiled back as he climbed to his feet. She could feel him
watching her as she wiped the dust and dirt from her pants. For effect, she
took her time, then glanced up at him.

"Take a picture. It’ll last longer."

Danny just scowled and made an obscene gesture. Eve laughed
softly. She found it flattering, enjoyed the fact that even at her age she
could still make the young ones sweaty.

Now she surveyed their surroundings. It was not as dark as
she had expected. They were in a cave with a ceiling perhaps twenty feet high,
but it grew wider and taller as it tunneled deeper into the rock, into the
earth, and where the tunnel turned out of sight, a kind of orange glow
illuminated the depths. A thick, rotten egg smell, riding on gusts of warm air,
wafted out to greet them.

"That’s nasty," Danny said, holding his nose and
looking about. "Where’s Mr. Doyle and Ceridwen?"

"Where do you think?" Eve asked, moving toward the
orange glow. "Stink central. Where else would they be?"

The sides of the rounded cave walls were smooth and warm to
the touch. The deeper they went into the widening tunnel, the warmer it became.

"It’s hot in here," Danny commented from behind.

"Figured that out all by yourself?" Eve sniped, a
feeling of unease beginning to creep through her.

The tunnel curved, descending toward what looked to be an
exit into a much larger chamber beyond. Eve emerged from the tunnel and stopped
dead in her tracks, overwhelmed by the sight before her. Danny kept right on
walking, slamming into her back.

"What the fuck?" he uttered in astonishment, and
she had to agree.
What the fuck, indeed.

They stood on a ledge with a breathtaking view over a valley
— a landscape that could have given the Grand Canyon a run for its money
— but where the canyon was breathtaking in its majesty, this place filled
Eve with a creeping dread that made her bones ache and her stomach churn. Every
muscle in her body screamed for her to run away.

"Ah, I see that you’ve finally decided to join us,"
came a voice, and Eve nearly jumped out of her skin. Conan Doyle appeared from
the shadows to the left, with Ceridwen trailing behind. He wiped moisture from
his brow with a white handkerchief. "I was beginning to think that you
hadn’t made it."

Eve gazed once more out over the hellish landscape. "And,
boy, am I glad I did."

"Come now, Eve," Conan Doyle said as he joined
her. "What did you expect from the Underworld? Rolling fields of grass? Apple
orchards? Rose bushes, perhaps? It isn’t supposed to be Eden, my dear."

His last comment was like a jab in the ribs, and Eve gave
him a hard look. Conan Doyle was well aware of how sensitive she was about her
early days and often used such references to help her to focus, but this time
it only made her angry. This was the sort of place she expected to end up in
for what she had done. The ultimate punishment for her sins.

"So where are we, really?" Danny asked, moving
past her, closer to the edge. "Is this really it? Really the Underworld?"

"Close enough," Doyle said. He tucked his
handkerchief back into his suit jacket pocket. "Think of a bubble, or
better yet, a garbage can containing the refuse of another age, a sanctuary
away from a world that has mostly forgotten that this age had ever truly
existed." He stopped suddenly and looked around, cocking his head slightly
to one side as if listening.

"What is it?" Eve asked.

They were all looking around now.

"It’s nothing," he said, turning away. "There’s
a path over here that will take us down," he said, and started in that
direction, clearly expecting them to follow.

Eve’s upper lip curled back. "Goody."

Silently, they descended deeper into the Underworld, Doyle,
Ceridwen, Danny, then Eve. The walls themselves seemed to glow with an otherworldly
light, as though fire blazed on the other side of each stone surface, and it
was burning through in spots. The sulfurous smell came and went on the strange
winds of that place. The terrain was awful, and they had to be cautious, for
the stony ground was pitted with soft places, where the rock would suck like a
quicksand mouth as they stepped past.

Hideously twisted things flew along the roof of the cave,
but they blended so well it was difficult to determine their size. They seemed
harmless enough, though their eyes glowed white, and Eve wondered what they fed
on here. There was little other sign of life, either current or past, though
they came once to a long stretch of dusty plain at the base of a craggy hill
where calcified bodies jutted from the ground as though they had fallen there
in death long, long ago, and sediment had settled around them.

Those whose mummified skulls were exposed had their jaws
open as though they had died screaming.

After a while Eve stopped thinking about leaving and started
to wonder what Nigel Gull and his people could possibly want in a place like
this.

"So what do you think, Doyle?" she asked, breaking
the silence. "Why are we here? What’s Gull up to?"

The landscape had grown even bleaker. Smoldering rock,
skeletal trees twisted and gnarled, dead for what looked like centuries, but
she guessed it was probably longer than that.
Much longer.

Other than the twisted things that had flown by, they were
the only signs of life in this place.

"I gave up trying to figure out Nigel Gull a long time
ago," Conan Doyle said as he helped Ceridwen circumvent a large, black
boulder that blocked their path. The Faerie sorceress had been doing her best
to cover it, but Eve noted a falter in her step. Her skin was pale and marbled
with blue veins, but there was a greenish tint to her flesh now and her eyes
seemed somewhat disoriented. Ceridwen looked decidedly unwell. Eve wondered if
it was an effect of the Underworld and made a mental note to watch Ceridwen’s
back if things got wild.

Conan Doyle was looking around again. "I sense
something here. Something other than Gull’s passing, something oddly . . .
familiar."

Danny had continued on the path and was half a dozen or so
feet ahead of them, bounding down the rocky slope as if he were some kind of
mountain goat.

"Hey, kid," Eve called out, the bad vibes getting
to her. "Wait up."

He disappeared around a bend and was lost from sight.

"Fucking kid," she grumbled and Conan Doyle
smiled.

"Boys will be boys," he said, putting his arm
around the ailing Ceridwen and continuing their descent.

Upon a narrow plateau, Eve paused to ask if the elemental
was all right, but her question was interrupted by a chilling scream. Danny
bolted out from behind the cover of some large rocks, a look of absolute terror
on his usually fearsome demonic features.

"Run!" he shouted, on the verge of hysteria as he
scrambled up the sloping path toward them.

From what?
she wanted to ask, but never got the
opportunity, because her question was answered when she saw that he was being
chased.

It was the biggest dog she had ever seen, about the size of
an elephant, and scrabbling across the rocks in hot pursuit of the boy. Its
ferocious growl sounded like the rumbling of a diesel engine.

It had three heads, each of them snapping after Danny,
hungry for a piece of him.

The large black cat stared at Julia Ferrick from the middle
step in front of Conan Doyle’s brownstone, its wide, jade eyes assessing her as
she began to climb the stairs. She didn’t remember Mr. Doyle having a cat, so
assumed it belonged to one of the neighbors.

"Hey, kitty," she said offhandedly as she placed
the shopping bag she was carrying at her feet and began to fish through her
pocketbook for the key that Dr. Graves had given her.

The cat continued to watch her with curious eyes. She found
the key and pulled it from her bag.

"Got it," she said, showing it to the animal. "Are
you going to let me by?" she asked the cat.

It studied her, extending its neck to sniff at her pants
leg, as if considering her question. It looked up into her eyes again, meowed
once, and left its perch, joining three other cats of various sizes and colors
that had mysteriously appeared at the bottom of the steps.

Julia found it odd and rather disconcerting the way they
were watching her as she slid the key into the lock. She glanced over her
shoulder to make sure the cats weren’t ready to follow her, then quickly
slipped into the house.

The inside was eerily quiet.

"Hello?" she called out, knowing no one was home,
but wanting to be sure. The only sound was the ticking of a grandfather clock
in a hallway off the foyer.

Danny had asked her to bring a few of his favorite CDs,
DVDs, and books the next time she was in the neighborhood. She had gone to see
her therapist earlier that morning in Cambridge and decided she would stop in,
so that his things would be waiting for him when he returned from wherever it
was he had gone.

She thought about her son quite a bit these days.
What
had Mr. Doyle called him?
she thought, climbing the stairs to her son’s
room.
A changeling?
A demon baby switched with a human child. It was the
most insane thing she had ever heard, but the facts were all there. She
remembered her child the way he had been before the onset of puberty, before
the disturbing physical changes, and wanted to cry.

Julia thought that she had gotten beyond all this, surprised
that she even had any tears left, but there they were. She wished she could
talk with her therapist about this, but of course, that was out of the
question.

She stopped on the stairs and took a deep breath, composing
herself. No matter what he was, she still loved her Danny. He was still the
child she had raised and loved with all her heart for sixteen years.

It’s like if he was gay . . . but different. Really
different.

Julia set the bag of his things down as she entered his room
on the second floor and breathed in the scent of him. Since beginning to
change, her son had started to give off a strange aroma, a heavy musty scent
not too far removed from the smoky smell of a wood-burning stove. His
sweatshirt was on the floor at the foot of the bed and she bent down to pick it
up, instinctively folding it and crossing the room to place it on the edge of
the bed. She wondered where he was and if he was safe. She felt a certain peace
knowing that Dr. Graves had promised to look after him, and smiled at the
thought the man. He was good for her son, despite the fact that he was . . .
what he was. Dr. Graves knew how to put her fears at ease, and because of that
she had developed quite a fondness for him.

Julia picked up the shopping bag and placed it on Danny’s
bed, wanting him to see that she had brought his things, to know that she was
thinking of him.
Always thinking of him.
Then she left the room, closing
the door gently behind her, and headed down the stairs to the foyer. She had
just placed her hand on the crystal doorknob, when she heard the sound.

A strange thumping noise came from the hall closet. Julia
held her breath, her chest aching with fear. She knew she should leave, maybe
call the police, but found herself strangely drawn to the sound.

What the hell are you doing?
An inner voice screamed
as she slowly reached for the knob. Again she heard the noise, and immediately
pulled her hand back, only to slowly reach out again.

She would never have dreamed of doing such a thing before
Arthur Conan Doyle and his strange companions had come into her life. It had to
be their influence on her, that’s the only way she could explain it. The metal
knob was cold to the touch and she counted to five before tearing open the door
with an ear-splitting scream.

Squire cowered in the corner of the closet, covering his
face as if attacked by a flock of angry birds. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You
just about made me soil my boxers."

Julia’s heart threatened to burst through her ribcage. "What
the hell are you doing in the closet?" she asked, not liking the sound of
her voice, pitched high from fear and the adrenaline coursing through her body.
"I thought you were all away on some mission."

Squire turned away from her and immediately began to rummage
through the floor of the closet. "We are," he said, dropping to his
knees. "But I need a couple of things from here before we continue with
our business in Greece."

She was going to ask how he had gotten there, but remembered
something about the goblin using shadows to travel in, and decided that she
didn’t need to know anything more.