accompanied the movement.
'That’s better,' the hobgoblin sighed, moving the restored arm, checking its mobility.
'We have not lost our quarry,' Dr. Graves said, floating down to join them, the white of his shirt and his dark suspenders and trousers equally transparent, as if he had been superimposed upon the cemetery.
'What do you mean?' Clay asked. With a thought, he replaced the writhing sensory organs on his face with eyes.
Graves gazed off into the cemetery and beyond. 'I hit her at least once,' he said, holding up a ghostly pistol that shimmered in the darkness, threatening to become insubstantial. 'The bullets are made from my life-stuff,' he explained. 'She is carrying a piece of me inside her — as if I’ve been brought along for the trip.'
Squire smiled, pointing a gnarled, stubby finger at Graves. 'You da man,' he said with a wink. 'So what are we waitin’ for?' He rubbed his hands together eagerly. 'Let’s go finish off this beastie.'
'No,' Clay said.
'No?' Squire repeated incredulously. 'What, are we gonna let ole snake head rampage through the streets of Greece turning everyone into decorative lawn ornaments? If you ask me, that brain inside your coconut is still made out of rock.'
Clay shook his head. 'I didn’t mean we weren’t going after her. We’re just not going to kill her.'
His comrades stared at him.
'We’re going to take her alive.'
In the ancient language of the elements, Ceridwen thanked the waters of the Ionian for their assistance. On the face of that promontory, atop a ledge perhaps one hundred feet above the water, the cliff had opened like massive stone doors, the gates to the Underworld. Conan Doyle had charged her with finding the fastest way to that ledge. His only criteria was to do it before Gull’s cajoling spell wore off, and the stone doors slammed shut again.
From the deck of Captain Lycaon’s boat she’d looked up at the entrance in the rock face and pondered the puzzle. She thought about conjuring a traveling wind, but determined that their number was too great and that the amount of time needed for the proper enchantment was out of the question.
She’d felt Conan Doyle’s anxious eyes on her as the others bid the good captain farewell.
'We must be going now, Ceridwen,' he had urged, and she had looked down over the side of their transport and suddenly had known how they would reach the Underworld entrance.
She had approached the side of the boat and thrust her staff into the emerald waters, asking for its assistance. At first the Ionian was sluggish to respond, but soon it warmed to her request, pleased to know that the Fey — who had once wandered this world at will — still existed. The sea had obliged Ceridwen, and the waters encircling the boat began to bubble and churn, and the air grew increasingly colder.
A bridge, she’d whispered in the language of the sea, my companions and I need a bridge.
In response, a swirling waterspout had surged up and out of the body of the ocean, bending and twisting to connect the sea to the rocky face of the promontory. The air grew steadily colder, and colder still, and the once fluid ocean waters became solid in the sudden, magical chill. A bridge of ice was formed.
'Impressive, my dear,' Conan Doyle said, a twinkle in his eyes.
Ceridwen felt a flush on her pale cheeks. 'Quickly now.' She urged them on as they scrambled over the side of the fishing boat and began their ascent toward the opening in the cliff face.
'I’m almost tempted to go with you,' Captain Lycaon said as she went over the side, the last to begin the climb. He stood at the rail, watching, eyes filled with wonder. The man was trembling, but she doubted that it had anything to do with the cold she had summoned. 'But I fear that should I enter that place, I would not be allowed to leave.'
'This is not a journey for the likes of you, good Captain,' Ceridwen said, balancing on the ice. 'Go back to the life you have made and leave matters of the Underworld to others.'
Captain Lycaon bid them all farewell, and they continued across the frozen bridge that would bring them to the land of the dead.
Frost crunched beneath the sole of Conan Doyle’s leather walking boots. He turned to see how the others progressed. Eve appeared to be having the most difficulty, struggling to maintain her footing, but he had little compassion for her. Before leaving Boston he had instructed her on the significance of a good walking shoe, but she had ignored him as usual, preferring to wear a high-heeled Italian boot.
Eve was indeed a slave to fashion.
'Quickly now,' he encouraged. 'I have no idea how long Gull’s enchantment will remain over the opening, we must get inside before the doors return to their previous state.'
'An ice bridge,' he heard Eve grumble from behind. 'Couldn’t have made something a little less dangerous. A fucking ice ladder maybe?'
'If you want, you can hold on to my shoulder,' Danny suggested. 'My sneakers give me pretty good traction.'
'Thanks, kid,' she said sarcastically. 'That way when one of us slips and goes over the side we’ll have company on the way down.'
The demon boy laughed out loud, and Conan Doyle was again reminded of how young Danny Ferrick actually was, and how well he was adjusting to the new life into which his metamorphosis had thrust him.
'Hey, I think I see some fish frozen in here,' the boy said, dropping to his knees and brushing the frost away from the path.
Eve was attempting to make her way around the boy as Ceridwen patiently waited for him.
'Daniel, please,' Conan Doyle said. 'What did I just say about quickening our pace?'
The boy lifted his head, embarrassed, and quickly got to his feet. 'Sorry. This whole frozen ocean thing is just so cool.'
A loud crack ricocheted through the air, and Conan Doyle felt a powerful vibration pass through the icy surface beneath his feet. He glanced at Ceridwen, troubled.
'Risk of the gates closing is not the only reason we should quicken our pace,' she said, placing a hand against Danny’s back, urging him forward. 'The ocean’s natural state is volatile. The spell will not hold it for long.'
Another loud crack, followed by a succession of smaller, more muted pops, erupted. The frost on the bridge had begun to melt, making the surface slipperier. Conan Doyle concentrated on his footing, not daring to slow his progress now to check on the others. He trusted they would be moving with both caution and alacrity as well. The cave was just ahead, a thick, less than welcoming sulfurous stench exuding from the yawing gates.
There came a low, unmistakable grinding that Doyle knew came not from the melting ice beneath their feet, but from the stone doors as they began to close.
'Blast it!' he yelled, trying to increase his speed. Instead he lost his footing and stumbled forward, hands sliding across the surface of melting ice. He was skidding toward the edge, when he felt his momentum arrested by a strong grip on his left ankle.
'No time for fun and games,' Eve said, helping him to his feet with Danny’s assistance. Jagged cracks splintered through the ice beneath them.
'Forget me!' Conan Doyle bellowed, shrugging off Eve and Danny. He pointed to the rock doors slowly swinging shut. 'Stop them, or this has all been for nothing!'
Inspired by his words, Danny sprang forward and caught one of the stone doors, but it continued its inexorable progress, dragging him across the icy slick ground. Eve got a grip on the other door, planting her feet in the slush and pooling seawater. She managed to stop it from closing.
'What a pussy,' she grunted to Danny. 'Can’t believe I’m stronger than you.'
Danny repositioned his feet on the slick surface and hauled back upon his door. 'Fuck… you,' he snarled with exertion and, for a moment, succeeded in keeping his side open as well.
Conan Doyle reached the doorway, stopping to allow Ceridwen to pass. 'After you, my dear,'
'Cut the gentlemanly bullshit, would you?' Eve grunted. 'My arms are coming out of the sockets any second now.'
'There’s always time for manners, Eve,' Conan Doyle chided, following the Fey sorceress into the darkness of the Underworld.
