Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

Danny stood beside the apparition of the former adventurer. "Not bad for a freak, huh, Ma?"

"Most headaches are caused by constriction of blood vessels inside the skull," Graves explained. "A little hot and cold therapy applied directly to the clusters is usually enough to alleviate the symptoms."

"I feel as though I should write you a check or something," Julia said, relishing the relief from her agony.

"The only payment I ask is that you extend the trust you gave to me to the others of this household."

What he was asking her to do was likely to pain her far more than any headache ever could, but deep down she knew that it was indeed best for Danny. Besides, how could she be steered wrong by the one of the world’s most famous scientists and adventurers? Ghost or not, this was Dr. Leonard Graves. Not trusting him would be like calling Elliot Ness a crook.

Julia smiled at the comparison, these two men from the annals of twentieth-century American history.

"You’ll have to call me every other night," she told her son.

Danny nodded. "I can do that."

"And I want to be able to visit. Nothing crazy, just to be able to see that you’re doing all right."

"That can be arranged as well," Graves responded. "I’ll see that you are given a key. And you’ll have a guest room at your disposal whenever you like."

"So does that mean I can stay?" Danny asked.

"Let’s just say I’m willing to try it," Julia answered, trying to quell a slight twinge of unease.

There came a knock at the door, and it swung open. Squire ambled into the room without an invitation.

"Sorry to interrupt. Hey, love what you’re doing with the place," he said sarcastically, nodding his potato shaped head at the dresser. "Fuckin’ kids today," he added with a disgusted grumble.

"What can we do for you, Squire?" Graves asked, distracting hobgoblin from glowering at the boy.

"Mr. Doyle wants to see everybody in the study."

Danny pointed to himself.

"You, too, horny Joe," the hobgoblin said, turning to leave. "Go a little easier on the furniture downstairs, would ya?"

Danny followed Squire into the hall. "I’ll talk to you later," he called, waving to Julia, leaving her alone with Graves.

She didn’t know how to feel. "I love you, Ma," she muttered as she stood up from the bed looking for her purse, preparing to leave.

"Mrs. Ferrick… Julia," Leonard Graves said. She found her pocketbook and slung the strap over her shoulder, turning toward the ghost. He smiled at her reassuringly, raising his hand to hold a forefinger and thumb slightly apart. "Only a little bit of trust."

"It’s the least I can do," she answered with a smile, and then watched as his body became even more immaterial, dropping down through the floor until he was gone.

Leaving her alone with the weight of her decision.

From the window of his study, Conan Doyle watched Julia Ferrick leaving his home and striding purposefully toward her car, which sat in one of the few legal parking spaces in the affluent Beacon Hill neighborhood of Louisburg Square. His sight was perfect again, perhaps even a bit better than that. He was glad that he had decided to pay Fulcanelli more than was necessary for his efforts; the chemist had outdone himself.

He let the heavy curtain fall back into place and turned just as young Daniel Ferrick entered the room. Eve and Clay, the eldest of his menagerie, sat side by side on the sofa. Dr. Graves stood behind them with his arms crossed, not quite as translucent as usual. Graves was focused at the moment on the substantial world. Danny glanced around for a moment, an odd expression on his face as he regarded the furniture, before sitting himself on the floor, his back against the sofa.

The only one who had yet to arrive was Ceridwen, and Conan Doyle felt his pulse quicken at the thought of her. Silly git, he chided, surprised that the Fey sorceress could still have such an effect upon him after so long. What had been between them once was no more. They had become allies again, but it went no further. Must be getting soft in my old age.

Squire entered the room carrying a long serving tray, laden with a pitcher of ice water flavored with lemon slices, red grapes, crackers, and a selection of cheeses. He set the tray down upon a wheeled cart just inside the door.

"Have you seen Ceridwen, Squire?" Conan Doyle asked.

The goblin snatched up a piece of cheese from the tray and popped it into his mouth. "Saw her on the top floor about ten minutes ago and told her there was a powwow," he said, chewing noisily. "She was still working on reestablishing that doorway between the house and Faerie, ironing out the wrinkles and all. Said she’d be right along."

Conan Doyle nodded. It was powerful magic she was attempting alone, and he wondered if the sorceress might require his assistance. As soon as this meeting was concluded, he would seek her out.

From a cabinet of dark wood, he retrieved a crystal decanter of scotch and a glass tumbler. "May I interest any of you in something with a bit more bite?"

Clay declined as he rose and went to fill a plate with crackers and grapes.

"I’ll love a jolt, thanks," Eve said from the couch.

"Me, too," Danny added.

Graves glared down at the boy from where he hovered. "I think not," he said coldly.

"It was worth a try," the boy shrugged, getting up and going to the cart for some water.

"I’ll pass," Squire said, perching on the edge of the loveseat with a plate stacked with cheese. "Make it a point not to drink any hard stuff until after five." The hobgoblin had a bite of one of the cheese wedges. "Unless I’m already shitfaced, that is."

Conan Doyle sighed and rolled his eyes as he crossed the room to bring Eve her drink.

"Here’s mud in your eye," she said with a sly smile, raising the tumbler in a toast. "And speaking of eyes, the new one looks fabulous. Who did it for you, Agrippa?" She tossed the scotch back in one go, then ran her tongue over her lips comically. "Not as nutritiously satisfying as the red stuff, but not without its merits."

"Always the lady, Eve," Conan Doyle said. "No, Agrippa and I had a bit of a falling out so I decided to go with someone local. Fulcanelli in the North End; do you know him?"

"Only by reputation." She studied his newly acquired eye. "He does nice work."

Clay returned to the sofa and offered her a cracker. She declined with a wrinkling of her nose.

"So, what’s the scoop?" she asked Conan Doyle. "I’m sure you didn’t call this little meeting just to chitchat and show off your new peeper."

Conan Doyle crossed the room to an empty wing back chair in the corner, his chair, and sat down. He set his drink down and picked up a file folder from a small table beside him.

"I received a phone call from one of our informants in Athens," he said as he opened the folder. "As well as these digital photographs over the Internet shortly thereafter."

Squire got up, took the printed photos and brought them to Eve. "Pass ‘em down when you’re done."

She glared at him.

"Hey, if those don’t do anything for ya, I’ve got some back at my room that might be more to your liking," the hobgoblin winked salaciously.

"I think I’m going to be sick," Eve said, as Squire sauntered back to his seat.

"Before that, please peruse the pictures, if you would be so kind," Conan Doyle said picking up his glass and taking a sip of scotch.

Eve still had her sunglasses on, but now she removed them to examine the pictures more carefully. "Okay, I’m game. What’s up with the statues?" she asked, passing the digital printouts to Clay.

"They weren’t always statues," the shapeshifter said grimly, looking up to meet Doyle’s eyes.

"Precisely."

"Any idea what’s responsible?" Clay asked, rising to give the pictures to Graves.