“What are you staring at?” Lilith asked him. She had long ago begun her slow descent into the Underworld, but now — caught by Eppstadt’s scrutiny — she had halted, and turned to face him again.
“You,” he said bluntly.
“Well don’t.”
So saying, she again turned her back and continued to descend into the earth.
“Wait!” he demanded. “I want to talk with you.”
He caught hold of the rear of her trailing gown. “Didn’t you hear me? I said wait.”
If there had been any trace of indulgence left on Lilith’s face it had now disappeared. She assessed him with a merciless gaze.
“Wait?” she said, her tone withering. “What makes you think I would obey any instruction of yours?”
As she spoke she glanced down at Eppstadt’s feet and he felt a motion under his heel. Odd, he thought. He stepped aside, only to find that a new crop of the shoots had sprung up before the opening of the Hell-Mouth. This time, however, they were more densely planted than before, and they were only growing in his immediate vicinity.
“What is this?” he said.
He felt the first needle-pricks in his ankles; little more than irritations really. But when he lifted his leg, he dragged the shoots out from under his skin, and they hurt. He yelped with pain. Hopping on one leg, he hoisted up his trouser leg. There were a dozen of tiny wounds around his ankle where the shoots had entered his skin; all were bleeding.
“Fuck,” he said.
There was nothing remotely entertaining about this dream now. He wanted it to stop. Meanwhile he felt the crop of shoots entering his other leg. He had no intention of repeating his error, so he stomped down the area of the shoots with his injured foot, and planted it there while he gingerly hoisted up his other trouser leg to examine the damage. Impossible as it seemed, the shoots had already advanced through the muscle of his calf. He could see their trajectory through his skin; they were getting steadily more ambitious as they climbed; dividing and dividing again, forming a network through his flesh. He caught hold of one at his ankle, where it pierced his skin. It was no thicker than a few braided hairs, but it wriggled around between his finger and thumb as though determined to keep on climbing, keep on growing. He tried to pull on it but a spasm of pain ran up through his leg, following the path of the shoots’ advance. It had almost reached his knee.
There were tears of agony in his eyes now. He looked up at Lilith, blinking them away so as to see her better. She was still watching him.
“All right,” he said. “You made your point.”
She didn’t reply.
“Make it stop,” he told her.
She seemed to consider this for a moment, biting lightly on her lower lip as she turned the option over. As she did so he glanced down at his other foot. The plants he’d ground beneath his heel had been replaced by new growths, which were already four or five inches high, and piercing him afresh.
“Oh God, no.” he said, returning his gaze to his tormentor’s face. “Please. I was wrong.” He barely able to get the words out, the pain was so intolerable. “Make it stop!”
Though his vision was blurred he could see her response to his plea. She was shaking her head.
“Damn you!” he said. “I made one fucking mistake! I’ve said I’m sorry. That should be good enough.”
Something burst just above his knee. He tore at his trouser leg, ripping the fabric with such pain-inspired force that it tore all the way up to his groin. There were flowers blossoming from the meat of his knee: six or seven small florets, each giving off a stink so pungent it made him giddy to inhale it. He glanced up at the woman who’d done this to him just one last time, hoping his tongue would be inspired to make her merciful. But she’d plainly already decided she knew how this would end. She had turned her back on him, and was continuing her descent into the underworld.