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

can it be?" the detective asked, steering the car
around a sharp turn that would lead them to the first of numerous side streets
in the crowded city.
    Clay gave him a reassuring glance. "That’s what we
intend to find out."
    "You must suspect that it is bad," he said. "To
have come with others." He fixed Clay with large, watery eyes.
    Clay had wondered if what Yannis Papathansiou saw those
years past had changed him in any way. Looking into those eyes now, he had his
answer.
    "Better to be safe than sorry." He glanced over
his shoulder to see Squire looking out the window like an excited pet, happy to
be off the plane and to have somebody else doing the driving for a change. Graves
appeared lost in thought, but Clay suspected the ghost was probably already
beginning their investigation, listening to the whispering voices of the dead
prevalent in this ancient city.
    "We’ll try to get this done as quickly as possible,"
he reassured the detective. "You won’t even know we’re here."
    Yannis chuckled, a wet burbling sound that gave Clay the
impression that the Greek was filled with fluid. "I will know," he
said, taking a left turn in the Athenian West End, heading into the Kerameikos,
the pottery district. "And I will not sleep peacefully until I know that
you, and whatever it is that plagues this city, are gone."
    "Nice," Squire squawked. "Is that an example
of Greek hospitality? No wonder I’ve been feeling all warm and tingly since I
got here."
    The detective did not respond. Moments later he brought the
car to a stop in front of a dilapidated building at the far end of a darkened
street. All the other buildings around it appeared to be in an equal state of
disrepair, but scaffolding had been placed around some of the structures,
hinting that some form of renewal was on its way.
    "We are here," Yannis said, unceremoniously
throwing open his door and extracting his large frame from the driver’s seat.
    "And here is . . . ?" Clay asked.
    "The man who owns this building is a former police
officer," he explained, lapsing into Greek now. "He has allowed us to
store the bodies here, away from curious eyes." The detective fumbled in
his pockets and produced a key. "This way."
    They followed him to a padlocked door. Clay noticed that the
man’s hands were trembling as he inserted the key into the lock.
    "I think we can take it from here," Clay reassured
him, also in Greek.
    Yannis looked at him with those eyes again, tired eyes that
had seen too much, and could never forget. "They are in the back — three
of them — a family," he said as he tugged the key from the lock and
handed it to Clay.
    "You look tired," Clay said.
    Yannis nodded, saying nothing.
    "Let me see about getting this taken care of so that
you can sleep peacefully again."
    The detective took a long breath and let it out, then
shuffled back to his car. "Lock it up before you leave," he called to
them as he forced his stomach behind the wheel, turned over the engine, and
drove off into the night.
    "Nice guy," Squire said sarcastically. "A
real life of the party, bet he’s a hoot at funerals."
    "Give him a break," Clay said as he removed the
padlock and pushed open the wooden door into complete darkness. "We deal
with this kind of thing all the time, but ordinary people aren’t prepared for
what happens when the nasties come out of the shadows."
    "Mewling babies," Squire growled, squeezing past
him, having no difficulty at all maneuvering in the dark.
    The place smelled of dampness and rotting wood. Still
standing in the doorway, Clay’s eyes shifted to those of a night predator, the
darkness becoming as bright as day. Graves floated by on his right, eager to
begin their investigation.
    "Yannis said they’re in the back," Clay told them,
and they proceeded across the open space. The large room appeared to be used
for storage. Clay noticed signs of decorations that would be used for some kind
of celebration or religious festival, as well as pallets of building