Free Tears of the Furies by Christopher Golden, Thomas E. Sniegoski Page B

could return, from time to time. This passage makes it
convenient enough. For now, though . . . it seems to me that the recent
troubles in Faerie were inextricably tied to the misery that befell this world.
The connection between the two seems stronger than it has been in quite some
time, so that what threatens one realm threatens them all. It may be that a new
dark age is imminent. If so, I believe that I will do more good working with
you and your clan here than at home."
    Her proud gaze faltered a moment and she glanced away. Then
she lifted her chin and met his eye. "That is, if you have no objection."
    Conan Doyle wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into his
embrace and feel the soft silk of her robes beneath his touch. He wanted to
laugh with surprise and pleasure. But Ceridwen would not have approved. He had
hurt her badly, once upon a time. Perhaps there would come a time when all the
detritus of their past could be brushed aside and the simple adoration they had
once felt for each other could be reborn. For now, though, they were separated
by the ruin of things that might have been. But Ceridwen wanted to stay, and
that meant there was hope.
    "My dear, you are welcome in my home from this night
until the last night of the world."
    Her pale, blue-white marbled skin flushed slightly pink, but
only for a moment. Ceridwen nodded, softening. "I am pleased. We may be at
the forefront of a new round of Twilight Wars, and there is no one at whose
side I would rather fight."
    The blush of a smile whispered across her face and in her
violet eyes he saw the innocent heart he had known, years before. It was gone,
then, hidden beneath the hardened wisdom of the time since, but as Ceridwen
nodded her thanks and then set off down the corridor away from him, Conan Doyle
found happy contentment in the knowledge that it was still there, within her. Regardless
of what might or might not happen between them in the future, he silently vowed
never to disappoint her again.
     
     
    The roads were still slick with recent rain but the sky was
crystal blue, the kind of day that seemed like a gift. Nigel Gull did not like
the rain. It spoke to him with the voices of the dead, yet only in
unintelligible whispers. The ghosts of words he couldn’t really hear. Now he
sat in the back of the limousine and glanced at Jezebel, sleeping soundly where
she lay sprawled on the seat, and he cherished her. She was always looking out
for him, poor girl. Gull intended to return the favor.
    The windows were down slightly, and there was a salty tang
to the air that blew in. A stranger to Boston, he had known it was near the
ocean but had not understood exactly how integral was the relationship between
city and harbor. Gull breathed in deeply, savoring the breeze.
    "We’re coming up on it now," the driver reported.
    Gull raised an eyebrow. Jezebel did not stir, but Hawkins
glanced curiously out the window. Gull leaned over Jezebel and caught sight of
a row of well-kept brownstones on one side and a perfectly manicured little
park on the other.
    "Which one is it?" Hawkins asked, his voice a
rasp. He stared out through the glass like a caged lion, confident that one day
he would be free.
    The brownstones had been built so that they shared a single
face, and yet those faces had been individualized over the years. Some had
flowers in window boxes. Bright curtains hung in the windows of one building. Another
had the frames around every window painted a bright yellow, and a door of the
same color. But at the corner was the one Gull was searching for. He could
sense the magick emanating from it, could taste it on the air even more
strongly than the salt of the ocean.
    "There," he said. "That one."
    Hawkins leaned toward the front seat and instructed the
driver, and a moment later they parked beside the curb in front of the home of
Arthur Conan Doyle. At last Jezebel came around. Her eyelids fluttered, and she
turned to give him a sleepy smile.
    "That was fast,"