When Danny climbed from the water, Ceridwen and Arthur ran to him. He was hunched over, unsmiling, horns gleaming wet, and his eyes glowed a perilous red. The boy had never looked more like a demon. There was so much of Hell in his eyes that they stopped a few steps away, regarding him warily.
"Oh, man," Danny said, shaking his head and then reaching up to cover his face. "That just totally sucked."
Ceridwen smiled and went to him, pulling him into her embrace.
"Thank you," she said.
Danny shrugged, wildness in his eyes. "Any time. This is why we’re here, right? All in all, I’d rather be watching TV. But if we don’t do the dirty work, there won’t be any TV. So, I figure, we do what we’ve gotta do."
Arthur clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a bemused smile on his face. "So, you’re fighting monsters and traversing the netherworld to make the world safe for television?"
"Pretty much."
"Well," Conan Doyle said, "as long as you have your priorities straight."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Their time in the Underworld had been a parade of the astonishing, a mind-boggling series of sights and experiences unlike any they had previously experienced. Conan Doyle had come to believe he had grown numb to it, that there was nothing left that could surprise him. Now, standing on a hill of bones, gazing down on the sprawling corpse of Hades, the mage realized how wrong he had been.
"Y’know what?" Danny asked beside him, breathing through his mouth to avoid the horrendous stench of decay that permeated the air. "I’ve had enough. I’m going home."
Ceridwen moved up next to the boy and placed a comforting arm about his shoulders. Conan Doyle knew the Fey were sensitive to the emotional states of others. She could feel Danny’s turmoil and was attempting to calm him. That was good, for he himself had no time for such mollycoddling. One of his Menagerie was in grave danger, and he would move Heaven, Earth and the Underworld itself to get her back.
"You don’t mean that," Conan Doyle said, as he started down the slope toward the enormous corpse. "What about Eve? Do you want to leave her here?"
"Eve can handle herself," Danny replied, but Conan Doyle could hear little conviction in his tone.
He stopped his descent and turned to look at Danny and Ceridwen, who were still standing on the crest of the hill of bones. "But she will not have to, for we are going to assist her."
Danny shook his horned head. "No way. I can’t do it anymore, it’s just too much." He gestured toward the body of Hades in the black soil valley below. "Do you see that?" he asked, his voice growing higher with panic. "It’s a giant fucking dead guy!"
The boy turned, and for a moment Conan Doyle thought he was about to walk away, but he spun around to reiterate his point. "It’s been one thing after another since coming here — since hooking up with you."
"And you’ve become a welcome part of our motley tribe," Ceridwen said, as she calmly stroked the back of his head.
Danny quickly stepped away from her touch. "I’m sorry, I just can’t."
There was a tremble in the boy’s voice and Conan Doyle was certain that he was about to cry. This will not do, not at all.
"You asked for this, boy," he said coldly. "You begged to be a part of it."
The boy squatted and buried his face in his hands. "I know, I know, and there’s a part of me that’s starting to get used to it." Danny laughed, raising his head. There were tears in his yellow eyes. "Can you believe that? I’m sixteen years old and I’m starting to get used to this shit. When we’re in the middle of it, the blood and monsters and shit, there’s a part of me that even likes it. Do you have any idea how much that scares me?"
"Get hold of yourself, Daniel," Conan Doyle snapped. "Are you not part of my team, of my Menagerie?"
Danny wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "It’s just that.. I was inside the belly of a fucking sea monster… and now this." He again gestured to the corpse that filled the valley below, the remains of a god. "I just don’t know if…"
"Damn you, boy! Answer the question!" Conan Doyle bellowed. "Are you not a part of my Menagerie?"
The young demon looked as though he’d been struck, rocking back slightly on his haunches, and then his expression began to change. Conan Doyle recognized the anger, which was exactly the response he was hoping to get.
"Did you hear me, Daniel Ferrick?" he continued. "Or was my question lost in the sound of your pathetic blubbering?"
The youth rose to his feet and Conan Doyle could have sworn he saw a flicker of crimson flame erupt from his eyes.
"No, I heard you just fine," Danny growled. "And, yes, I am part of your fucking Menagerie."
"Excellent," Conan Doyle said, reaching up to casually stroke his mustache. "Now follow. We’ll see this through. Eve would sacrifice immortal life for any of us. You’ve never served in the military, Daniel, but still you should understand. We don’t leave one of our own behind. Not ever." The mage turned and continued down the hill, off of the bone-strewn hill and onto the fine black soil of the valley.
Danny pushed past him, quickening his step. "What’re we waiting for?" he growled. "The sooner we find Eve, the faster we can get out of here."
Ceridwen fell into stride beside Conan Doyle, one hand raised, stirring the wind so that the air, thick with the stench of decay, was more breathable. He had noticed that after the shattering of her elemental staff, she had not attempted to repair it using the dark, corrupt wood of the Underworld. She had summoned the roots and made the trees do her bidding in building a raft for them to cross the Styx, but had not made herself a new staff. It was clear she had established a rapport with the elements of this place, but it seemed she did not want that connection to be any more intimate than was necessary.
"Are you two coming?" the demon boy called.
"We’re right behind you," Conan Doyle said, taking Ceridwen’s arm. "Every step of the way."
Ceridwen stood before the body of the fallen god and marveled at its enormity. From inside the great, decaying corpse there came faint sounds of life. Her gaze traveled over the incredible sight of the dead giant, rotting remains whose breadth was greater than all but the largest villages of Faerie.
Conan Doyle stood on her left, Danny on her right, all of them awed into silence until the demon boy shook his head, swore under his breath, and began to utter a mad little laugh.
"What do you think happened to him?" Danny asked. "By the looks of his throat, I’m guessing shaving accident."
She ought to have been reassured that the boy’s twisted sense of humor had returned, but there was that lunatic edge to it that only made Ceridwen more concerned for him. She gazed down at the dark, powdery earth beneath her feet, then knelt and pushed the tips of her fingers into the tainted soil, gasping at the images flooding her mind. Conan Doyle joined her and she took hold of his proffered hand as she tried to sort through the tainted memories of earth.
"Hades took his own life," she said, withdrawing her hand from the soil. She wiped her fingers on the hem of her cloak. "He knew it was only a matter of time before they were forgotten, and without the memory of the mortal world, they would cease to be." The very ground was saturated with the melancholy of the gods, and it threatened to overwhelm her. "The constant thought of it drove Hades mad, and he slit his own throat with a dagger that was a gift to him from his beloved Persephone."
"I’d slit my throat if I had to live here, too," Danny muttered to himself, still gazing in disbelief at the remains of the god.
Conan Doyle still held Ceridwen’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "And Eve? Can you sense anything of her?"
Ceridwen nodded, dredging up that particular piece of imagery from the countless others shown to her. She saw the hideous Gull and his followers, and she saw Eve, kneeling before the vengeful Furies. "Yes, they were here," she gasped. "As were the Erinyes. They’ve all gone inside."