Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

She did not want to die. Yet if she were to live, she wanted at least not to be so alone. Somewhere in this ancient seat of power, she reasoned, there must be pieces of the Old World lingering, some tangible connection to the past. If she could touch that bygone age, taste it, she knew it would sustain her. For here in the modern city with pollution in the air and cars roaring on the roads, she felt like a wisp. Like a memory. Like a myth. As though at any moment she might simply disappear into the mortals’ collection of legends, becoming nothing more than a story.

Yet she was not a story. She was flesh and blood.

And venom.

There in the darkness between the columns of Hephaestus’s temple, she stared out across the Agora, a massive open area ringed with buildings and thronged with mortals. Yet they did not thrive there. They only survived and observed. They entered the buildings as though the city was a living museum.

Once the Agora had been the center of life in Athens, the seat of its lawkeepers and administrators, with its temples and arcades and shops, and the mint where the coin of the ancient city had been struck. There had been a library there, and houses of education. But if all of those structures that lined the edges of the Agora were the mind of Athens, its broad open expanse was the city’s beating heart.

The memory was fresh. So much so that if she narrowed her eyes just a bit she could still see the carts and the vendors shouting at passersby, the hagglers at the booths and the children running in among the crowds. A shudder of nostalgia passed through her. The Agora of Athens had once been the crossroads of the Aegean. In her mind’s eye she could see Socrates orating in the street. She could smell the honey and spices permeating the sweltering air, hear the voices of slave traders as they boasted about their chattel. She could taste an olive upon her tongue, its perfect flesh crushed in her mouth, flavor spreading over her palate.

What mortals did not understand was that the ancient world faded but it never disappeared. If she could peel back the layers of time that had transpired since then, she could touch that world. Just for comfort. Her mind roiled with confusion. Immortal life was wasted if she could not decide how to spend it. Certainly not like so many others from her age. She had convinced herself that a taste of the past was all that was required. Then she would know what to do. How to live.

And none of these mongrel offspring of the once-proud human race were going to stand in her way.

In the darkness, her hands caressing the perfect beauty of the Doric column beside her, its marble cool against her skin, she hissed softly. It was only her voice for a moment, and then her hissing was joined by a chorus of angry whispers from the nest of snakes atop her head.

"Excuse me?" asked a voice from behind her. The language was Greek, but so mangled that she knew he had not been born here.

A curious tourist who’d lost his way, perhaps, and heard the hissing in the shadows. With an expression half smile and half sneer she turned to face him. He recoiled in horror and his eyes froze, his features a mask of revulsion and terror that would remain for all eternity, etched in petrified stone.

The passengers of the Range Rover had traveled in silence ever since setting out from Mitilini, where two of the vehicles had been awaiting their arrival. Eve was behind the wheel, with Conan Doyle in the passenger seat, and Danny and Ceridwen in the back. The kid still had his headphones on, but when she glanced in the rearview mirror, Eve could see he was alert and anxious, his eyes darting around, watching the sides of the road… not to mention the road in front of them. He was guarded and suspicious.

That was good. Healthy.

The other Range Rover was ahead of them. Hawkins was driving with Gull riding shotgun and the wild-eyed Jezebel in the backseat. Eve had taken a liking to Jezebel, perhaps because of the madness in the girl’s eyes. She knew what it was like to feel that unchained and how dangerous it could be. Eve figured the girl’s instability was a liability, but she was Gull’s problem, for now.

Conan Doyle had a map spread on his lap and the interior light on. Eve had enjoyed the sunshine, thanks to Gull’s spell, but she was relieved that night had fallen. She was comfortable in the dark. At home.

"We’re nearing Sigri, now," Conan Doyle reported.

Eve shot him a sidelong glance. "Let me guess. Cute little fishing village, like we stepped back in time, full of hardy Greek men and sensuous full-bodied women?"

Despite the tension Gull’s presence was causing, Conan Doyle had not apparently lost his sense of humor. Most people would not believe he had one, but Eve knew it well. Even now, the mage pretended to be surprised.

"However did you know that?" he asked.

"I’m psychic. Didn’t you know?"

In the back, Danny laughed softly. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed he had pulled the headphones off. Eve realized that, just as she had, the kid sensed they were approaching their destination. That there was something supernatural nearby. Something big.

Even Ceridwen smiled at her words. Eve was far from psychic, of course. But they had been driving the coast of the island of Lesbos for a while now, and every place they came to was just a more rustic version of the last quaint fishing village.

"I wish we coulda spent some more time in Istanbul," Danny said. Now that the silence had been broken, he seemed to want to engage the rest of them. "It was beautiful. Dirty, yeah. But still… squint your eyes just right and it feels like you’re walking through history. Those were maybe the only lectures I ever stayed awake for in my history classes… about the Byzantine Empire and the Turks and all of that."

"Perhaps we can return one day," Conan Doyle offered. "When other matters are not so demanding of our attention."

Danny seemed surprised. "Do you think?"

Ceridwen replied instead of Conan Doyle. In the mirror, Eve could see the Fey sorceress turn to the boy. "I don’t see why not. You have the resources now to explore not only this world but others as well. You’d do well to take advantage of the opportunity to enrich yourself."

"Or you could just have fun," Eve added. "You know, learn about different countries by experiencing their pubs and whores."

Conan Doyle sighed but said nothing. Eve gave him a devilish smirk. She was glad that he and Ceridwen seemed to be healing the rift between them and maybe there was a future there. They certainly loved one another and that in itself was rare. Even with the resentment of the past still lingering the two of them would obviously have sacrificed anything for one another. But Eve was going to draw the line at their trying to parent Danny Ferrick. The kid needed friends and mentors, yes. But he had a mother. An ordinary, wonderfully human mother. Eve didn’t want any of them distracting the kid from how lucky he was to have her.

They followed the Range Rover in the lead as it veered away from the village they’d been approaching. The land around them quickly began to change. The ground was rutted. Hawkins was driving like he had a death wish or just didn’t care. Eve thought that was pretty sexy, actually, and had no problem doing the same. They bumped over ruts and cut corners too close, sending up swirls of dirt clouds that rose into the night as they passed.

Soon it was not only the terrain that had changed.

"Holy shit," Danny muttered in the back eat, voice so low he seemed unaware he had even spoken. "What is this?"

"Yes," Ceridwen agreed. She shuddered and drew her cloak more closely around her as she stared out her window. "It is like a tomb of trees."

Up ahead, Hawkins slowed. Eve did the same. She had to cut the wheel to swerve around a tree that had fallen across their path. But, then, it wasn’t really a tree, was it? All around them now was a gray, charcoaled landscape. The trees did not blow in the breeze. The plants did not give off the perfume of flowers. Each trunk that jutted up into the shadow of the night seemed like a withered husk, a corpse, and their branches were skeletal figures pointing accusingly at the sky.