He looked around. Where are Gull and his people? He saw them in the distance and shouted for them, but they ignored him.
A groggy Eve had just climbed to her feet when the Hydra attacked again. A head struck her, its mouth clamping onto her shoulder, long venomous fangs digging into her flesh. She clawed at its face with taloned hands to little avail and shrieked in pain as the creature held fast, sinking its teeth deeper, driving her to her knees. Another of the heads lunged, biting into the opposite arm, followed by yet another that saw the potential for a strike upon one of her thighs. She fought valiantly, but the serpents’ heads would not release her, lifting her from the ground, trying to pull her apart.
Danny breathed deeply, mustering all his courage, and sprinted across the hard, dusty ground, volcanic ash rising around him. One of the Hydra’s heads whipped around, and its hideous eyes locked on him. It bared its fangs and hissed.
The demon boy hissed back, and lunged for the monster.
The man who arrived at the scene of the second atrocity in Athens looked exactly like Yannis Papathansiou, walked and talked like him, even smelled like him. But the detective was elsewhere. It was Clay who wore his face, and he entered the building with Squire in tow. The hobgoblin was hideous, but he had passed for human before, primarily because people saw his ugliness and tried to avert their eyes out of politeness. When they did stare, they thought him some kind of freak. There would be those who would wonder about the gnarled little man with Detective Papathansiou, but no one would say a word in front of Squire.
'Let me handle this,' Clay whispered to the hobgoblin.
'I think we’ve finally found the perfect look for you,' Squire whispered, peering over the top of his dark sunglasses, even though dawn was hours away. The hobgoblin was wearing a baseball cap that had Kiss Me I’m Greek embroidered on it, with a pair of red, luscious lips emblazoned below. Clay had considered asking where he’d gotten such a hat, but knew he would probably regret the question, so he let it go.
The detective had called them at the hotel to inform them that another stone body had been found. Clay had instructed the old man to stay home, that he and his associates would handle the investigation. Yannis had at first protested, but when Clay had explained that a fresher victim might provide better clues to lead them to their quarry, he had at last acquiesced.
Clay and Squire moved past the Thesseion temple toward the small gathering of police officers and detectives. 'Not a word,' Clay warned the goblin again, as a broad shouldered man with glasses approached them. Papathansiou had told him that this detective was named Dioskouri, and the other, smaller man, who had yet to notice their arrival, was Keramikous.
'Lieutenant,' Dioskouri said.
'Detective,' Clay acknowledged dismissively, channeling every nuance of Lieutenant Yannis Papathansiou’s personality and body language. They were speaking Greek, which Squire did not understand very well, but in his masquerade, speaking English would have raised suspicions. He looked past Dioskouri, searching for the crime scene. 'The body is where?'
The detective nervously adjusted his glasses as he turned and pointed through the darkness to a section of columns. 'Back there, his wife found him.'
'Time’s a wastin’, Zorba,' Squire said, heading toward the crime scene.
'And you are?' Dioskouri asked in English, moving to block Squire’s way.
Squire sighed in exasperation. 'Would you mind telling him who I am, Yannis, old chum?'
'This is Professor Squire from the Institute in Vienna,' Clay explained in staccato Greek. 'He’s been vacationing on the islands and was kind enough to offer his assistance.'
Dioskouri looked down at the tiny man in confusion. His English was rough, but understandable. 'I mean no disrespect sir, but you are an expert on the impossible? On men and women turned to stone?'
Squire clasped his stubby arms behind his back and rocked on the heels of his high top sneakers. 'You’d be surprised, my boy, you’d be surprised.'
Clay decided that it would be wise to get them to the body as quickly as possible and pushed past Dioskouri and Squire. 'Keramikous,' he called to the other detective, who was still conversing with two, uniformed patrolman.
'Yes, Lieutenant?' the man responded quickly, stepping away from the officers.
'Secure the area. Professor Squire and I are going to look at the crime scene.'
Keramikous looked momentarily confused. 'Professor Squire?'
'He’s from the Institute in Vienna,' Dioskouri snapped, with an air of superiority.
'Carry on,' Clay said, waving them away as he and Squire carefully navigated the stone pathway that would take them to the body.
'Where exactly is this Institute in Vienna?' Squire asked in a whisper from the corner of his mouth, amusement in his voice.
Clay shrugged. 'I made it up. But neither of them seems interested in second-guessing their lieutenant.'
'Did you know I’m this shy of a degree in massage therapy?' the hobgoblin asked, holding his sausage-sized thumb and forefinger apart less than an inch.
'You don’t say,' Clay said as they approached the Doric columns around which yellow crime scene tape had been wrapped.
'Couldn’t find any place to accept my internship though,' Squire grumbled. 'I think it’s because I’m a guy trying to break into an industry dominated by chicks. What do you think?'
Clay pulled away the tape, maneuvering around the column, searching for the latest Gorgon victim. 'I think I might be able to find you something in New Orleans, if you’re interested.'
An unusually wide, toothy grin spread across the hobgoblin’s face. 'Hey, you’d do that for me? That’d be sweet.'
'Here we go,' Clay said as they came upon the petrified body. It was just as disturbing as the others, the features wide with fear and despair.
'All right, let’s deal with this Gorgon bullshit and get home to the important stuff.' Squire began to move around the crime scene, examining every shadow.
Clay smiled to himself. Now at least Squire would be focused. He wondered briefly how Graves was faring in his more spiritual investigation, haunting the streets of the ancient city for a spirit or two that might give them some information about the Gorgon’s whereabouts. Hopefully, working both the physical angle and the ethereal, they could make some progress and find the creature before it caused anymore harm.
Still wearing the shape of the overweight detective, he turned his attention to the ossified figure before him. Its terrified gaze was frozen, staring blankly in the direction of the two columns. 'The Gorgon must have been standing somewhere over there,' Clay said, turning toward the columns.
'Let’s see if it left anything of interest behind.' Squire walked over to the columns, surveying the ground around them. 'No conveniently dropped cigarette butts or anything,' the goblin observed, 'but that doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a scent behind.'
Clay took that as his cue to alter his form again. To track by scent he summoned the shape of an animal with an incredibly acute olfactory sense. The shape of Yannis Papathansiou melted away with a sound very much like the flapping of bird’s wings, to be replaced by a far more beastly form — a Dire Wolf, prehistoric relative of the common gray wolf, larger and more sturdy than its modern counterpart.
'Nice doggy,' Squire said, stepping away.
Clay smelled it immediately, the aroma of something ancient and dangerous, hinting of desperation and unpredictability. It made the hackles of fur at the back of his neck stand on end.
'I’ve got it,' he growled, altering the structure of the wolf’s mouth slightly to allow him to speak.
Squire jumped onto his back, grabbing a handful of thick, grayish fur. 'Go fetch.'
It was no simple thing to avoid the police already in the area, but Clay maneuvered in the shadows and the route of the Gorgon’s escape, neat the back of the ruins. Its scent was all over the place. The Dire Wolf leaped into the darkness. They paused a moment, waiting for voices to shout at them, but no one had noticed their exit.
Clay placed his nose closer to the ground and began to follow the trail, a path so obvious it was like following bread crumbs, or a line drawn with bright red crayon. The Dire Wolf and its passenger padded across the timeworn ground of the Agora, leaving the murder scene behind. The spoor was strong. At this rate, it would only be a matter
