Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

He was stoking the fire of his rage, preparing for a proper rant, when Ceridwen reached up from the water and took his hand. Conan Doyle glanced down at her and saw that she was smiling fondly at him. His brow creased in a frown and he turned to Eve, who had waded out a short way into the sea so that now only her head was above water. Charred flesh drifted around her, washed away by the surf.

Eve cocked her head to one side. "We survived. He played us, yeah. But we made it out of there. Shit like this, well, let’s just say whenever the ennui of being immortal starts to get to me, it’s good therapy to have to fight for your life."

Conan Doyle pushed his fingers through his hair and then flattened his mustache. He smoothed his jacket, trying to bring some order back to his immediate surroundings. When he spoke, he let his gaze drift to Nigel Gull, who was wiping drying blood from his face with his untucked shirttail. Gull had seemed defeated, deflated, before they escaped. Now he stood as tall as ever, a dark gleam in his eyes and a sneer set into that ugly face.

"We survived, yes," Conan Doyle confirmed, glaring at Gull. "But I wonder if we would have been so fortunate if Sweetblood did not think there might come a day when we might be useful to him again."

Gull snorted laughter, a fresh trickle of blood spilling from his left nostril. "Come on, old boy, do you really believe Lorenzo ever actually needs anyone."

Danny spun and marched toward Gull, then poked him in the chest. "I’m so sick of you, dude. Talk to Mr. Doyle like that again and — "

Black light crackled in Gull’s eyes and that bruise-purple energy began to coalesce around his fingers as he made a fist. "Don’t press your luck, boy. You caught me unaware before. I’m quite alert at the moment, I promise you."

The changeling laughed. "What are you going to do to me? Burn me? Kill me? I’m not afraid to die, I’m afraid to — "

He left off there, quite abruptly, and Conan Doyle frowned as he finished the sentence in his own mind. I’m not afraid to die, I’m afraid to live. It would be good to get Danny home, and soon. The boy had been through a great deal. He needed his mother’s comfort, and the counsel of a soul more tender than Conan Doyle. Dr. Graves had formed a bond with Danny. After this adventure, that would surely be put to the test.

Ceridwen rose from the water. She still looked a bit wan, but a certain peace had returned to her countenance. The way her cloak and tunic clung to her made Arthur’s breath catch in his throat. All of his righteous ire evaporated in that instant and suddenly he was as grateful to be alive as Eve was. They had survived.

He reached for her and, despite the presence of the others, held her close. Ceridwen smiled as their lips brushed together and then he pressed his cheek against hers, knowing his stubble was rough on her skin, remembering that she had always liked that.

Survived.

"Well, it’s been lovely, but I’m afraid I must be going," Gull announced.

Conan Doyle turned toward him, still holding Ceridwen. Eve was floating blissfully in the water and barely acknowledged him, but Danny gaped in astonishment and looked to Conan Doyle for support.

"Come on!" the boy said. "This guy totally played us. You’re not going to just let him walk away?"

Gull raised an eyebrow. "Isn’t he? We go back a ways, boy. And Sir Arthur was never the sort to slay a man in cold blood. It’s one of the obvious distinctions between the two of us."

For just a moment longer, Conan Doyle held on to Ceridwen, gaining strength from her touch and her nearness. Then he pulled away from her and strode out of the surf up onto the narrow, rocky shore. Gull cocked his head and watched him curiously. There was no sign of fear in the man’s countenance, but Conan Doyle had known him long enough to see a bit of trepidation in his eyes. Only once before had they tested their skills against each other in dire combat. The truth was, rested and ready, Gull might have had more raw power. He certainly had dark sorcery at his disposal that Conan Doyle did not. But like any other conflict, a magickal duel was equal parts strength and cunning, and despite his conniving ways, Arthur felt sure that he could best Gull if it came to that.

But he had no intention of dueling.

Still…

Conan Doyle stepped into the swing, slamming his fist into Gull’s face with enough force that the other man staggered backward. One of his knuckles popped. He kept after Gull, driving a left into his abdomen, then a right, and even as the twisted mage tried to block, magick crackling around him, Conan Doyle struck him one, final time with a blow to the chin that knocked him off of his feet. Gull fell onto a ridge of rocks and rolled over once, crying out with the impact.

Fuming, magick roiling around his hands and steaming from his eyes, his mouth pulled into a sneer that distorted his misshapen head even further, Gull pulled himself painfully from the ground, climbing to his feet.

Conan Doyle stepped up onto the rocks to glare down at Gull. "I am not the man you once knew. I could kill you, Nigel. Don’t imagine I’d feel any compunction about that. I have the will, and the capacity. But I have been considering your sins ever since I discovered your intent. Others have done far worse for love. No matter how misguided, no matter what you nearly cost my friends, and me… I am inclined to accept that we have all been equally manipulated. You were as much a pawn as the rest of us were. For that alone, I will not prevent you from leaving. But after what you’ve done, what you risked, and the callous way in which you threw away the lives of your own associates.. I could not allow you to depart without expressing my displeasure."

Gull strode several yards nearer to the cliff face, his back to Conan Doyle. He reached into his jacket and withdrew the vial of blood he had received from the Erinyes, the tears of the Furies. After examining it to make sure it was still intact, he glanced back at Conan Doyle, nostrils flaring.

"I shall not forget that indignity."

"Nor should you," Conan Doyle warned. "Nor should you."

Eve at last surfaced and emerged from the sea, water spilling off of her ruined clothes. Whatever designer had fashioned them would have wept to see the way she wore them now. She strode up beside Conan Doyle and Ceridwen joined him on the other side. Danny crouched on a nearby rock, more at rest in that position now, it seemed, than standing upright.

All four of them stared at Gull silently for a moment.

"Are you going to tell him now?" Eve asked.

Gull bristled. "Tell me what?"

Conan Doyle nodded once and let out a long breath. The magick Gull had been mustering had begun to dissipate. The time for war was over, for now.

"When the first of Medusa’s victims turned up in Athens, I sent agents to investigate."

The realization of what that might mean was instantaneous. Gull’s eyes widened and he glanced about as though he might find some solution upon the rocks. Then his gaze hardened again and he glared at Conan Doyle and his companions.

"If she has been harmed — "

Conan Doyle raised an eyebrow. "She’s killed who knows how many by now. I can almost assure you that if they’ve caught up to her, she has been harmed. You may have put us all through this for nothing, in the end. A bid to cure a monster. Yet you if anyone should know that it is not the face that makes a monster, but the heart.

"Still, we shall see."

The morning sun had long since stretched across the water and the shore. Conan Doyle left all of them standing on the rocks and walked up toward the cliff. An outcropping of rock jutted from the craggy face of the peninsula, and he stepped into the cool shadow it cast.