Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

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.

"If I was a titanium mesh net where would I be?" he asked himself, disappearing beneath a curtain of Doyle’s long winter coats.