Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

Once more Clay metamorphosed into the familiar, human face he so often wore. He rarely revealed what he thought of as his true appearance. There was nothing human about him.

"He’s gone, all right. He shot me just to buy time."

Squire dabbed at his wound with a filthy handkerchief. "To do what?"

Even in human form, Clay found the strength of the pungent aroma was nearly overpowering. "Do you smell it?" he asked.

Squire sniffed, and his brow furrowed, causing a fresh trickle of blood from his wound. "What the fuck is that?"

"Ammonia," Clay answered. "To eradicate any trace of the Gorgon’s scent. I could pick up the trail again if I searched long enough, but there’s no way to know if it’ll be a fresh trail, or the path the Gorgon took getting to the ruins, instead of away."

Squire placed his hands on his hips. "Are you suggesting that our monster has a guardian angel looking out for it?"

"I’m suggesting that somebody else has an interest in our quarry," Clay responded, his dark animal eyes scanning the darkness. "And they’re willing to kill to keep us from getting to it first."

"Quickly now," Gull ordered as Hawkins sunk the blade of the shovel deep into the dry, black soil.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder at the commotion in the not-too-far distance.

Conan Doyle and his people are putting up quite a fight, he thought, the Hydra’s angry wails echoing through the night. Gull felt a momentary pang of guilt as he watched them fight for their lives against the many-headed beast, but then realized their lives meant nothing compared to his objective.

"Did you know it was there?" Jezebel asked, distracting him.

He turned from the battle in the distance. Hawkins was still digging, making excellent progress, each shovelful of dead earth bringing them closer and closer still. Jezebel was staring at him, large, green eyes glistening in the darkness, red tresses blowing across her face.

"Did you know the monster was under the ground?" the girl asked again, reaching out to touch Gull’s sleeve, urging him to reveal his duplicity.

She was a fragile thing, filled with such rage, sadness, and fear. He hated to show her the lengths to which he would go to achieve what he most desired, how easily established trusts could be torn asunder, but there was far too much at stake to concern himself with such flimsy concepts as loyalty and honor.

"Nothing must sway us," he told her, nodding grimly. "There was no way the Hydra would have allowed us to reach the grave."

Jezebel looked from Gull to Hawkins, who continued to furiously dig, and then turned her attention to the Hydra and its prey. "They trusted you," she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

Gull chuckled. "I seriously doubt that. But there was no choice, my dear Jezebel. If Conan Doyle knew who was actually buried here, and my intentions for him, well, let’s just say I doubt we would be where we are right now."

For a long moment, Jezebel only looked at him, one hand on her outthrust hip, ever the rebellious teen. Then she shrugged, her t-shirt riding even higher up on her exposed abdomen. "I didn’t like them very much anyway," she said with a darling shake of her head, a sly smile creeping across her delicate features; her faith in him seemingly restored.

"That’s the spirit." Gull pulled her close and placed a gentle kiss on her brow, then turned his attentions to Hawkins. "How’re we coming along, Nick?" he asked, the crackle of anticipation in the air.

"Would be further along if one of you would lift a bloody finger to help," Hawkins grumbled, tossing another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder. The man was making excellent progress. He had dug down at least four feet into the dusty soil.

"We all have our parts to play, Mr. Hawkins," Gull reassured him. "Soon your part will be done, and it will be our time to shine."

"Yay!" Jezebel said, clapping her hands.

Hawkins sunk the blade of his shovel into the earth again, but this time it was met with a strange, hollow thud. Gull gasped as the man looked up and smiled. Hawkins leaned his tool against the side of the hole and, kneeling down, began to carefully brush away the dry, black dirt. Even this far down the soil was like dust, as if all moisture had somehow been removed from the ground.

Gull moved closer to the hole’s edge, watching the man as he worked. Something wooden was gradually coming into view. He held his breath as Hawkins placed the flat of his hand against the top of the buried box to read its psychic impression.

Hawkins gasped, falling backward as his body was wracked with trembling spasms. Gull frowned and knelt to reach for him, but Hawkins waved him away, catching his breath.

"This is it," he said, struggling to his feet and retrieving his shovel.

"Let’s have it, then, Nick," Gull ordered, his heart racing. "But be careful, yes? It’ll be useless to me if the contents of our little box are damaged."

Hawkins jammed the point of the shovel into the rotted wood, splintering the top with ease. He tossed his shovel aside to squat down at the box. Carefully he pulled the cover away, the ancient wood crumbling in his hand, to expose a filthy, burlap sack. Hawkins reached inside and hauled the sack out of the box.

"Give it here," Gull said, his twisted hands reaching eagerly as Hawkins handed it up to him.

Gull gently laid the sack on the ground and knelt beside it as if preparing to pray. The burlap was as rotted and dry as the earth in which it had been interred, and he grabbed hold of the coarse cloth, tearing open the sack to expose its contents.

A single human skull.

Jezebel knelt breathlessly beside him, and Hawkins peered out over the rim of the hole.

"Here we are," he said as he raised up the perfectly preserved skull. It still wore a paper-thin covering of dried flesh, and tufts of downy hair clung to the top of its head, like some grotesque baby chick. "What a handsome devil you are," Gull cooed, first showing the face of the skull to an appreciative Jezebel, and then to Hawkins.

"A real looker," Hawkins agreed as he began to haul himself from the hole.

"He has a kind face," Jezebel said, reaching out to gently feather the tufts of hair with her long, delicate fingers. "I think I would have liked him quite a bit."

"And he you, I’m sure," Gull said as he climbed to his feet, skull in hand. "But as of now, our disembodied friend has much to share with me, and I require your special talents."

The girl smiled, planting her feet on the ground and moving her head around, stretching the muscles in her neck in preparation. "Your wish is my command," she said, closing her eyes.

Jezebel’s brow furrowed as if she were suddenly in the throes of deep thought, and her breathing became heavier. Desiccated skull still in hand, Gull watched as a visible tremor passed through her body, and she gasped, eyes opening wide as she turned her gaze to the evening sky. Twin trickles of scarlet began to leak from her nostrils.

"Here it comes," she said in breathless whisper, shivering uncontrollably as the full force of her personal magick was unleashed upon the environment.

Thick, billowing clouds of white coalesced in the sky above them, but nowhere else. A rumble of thunder heralded the arrival of their own private storm. A flash of lighting slashed the night’s black tapestry, followed by an even more severe clap of thunder, and then the rain at last began to fall.

Jezebel fell to her knees, then began to giggle as she curled herself into a tight ball on the ground and promptly fell asleep.

"Mr. Hawkins," Gull called over the sound of the torrential rainfall. "If you would be so kind as to bring Jezebel to the truck."

The former SAS man complied, picking up the soaking girl and carrying her to the Range Rover parked not far from them.