“So why do I feel that this is one of those dogs that will let you in but not out?” muttered McKenna.
“That’s its reputation,” said Jerry glumly.
The gates swung silently open. The land beyond was barren and flecked with small white flowers. “Asphodels. Complete in every detail except it’s the wrong myth,” said Jerry dryly. “Amazing.”
“Hic.” The tall, slender, dark-haired woman in the gateway swayed slightly. “Are you coming in, or are you going to stand out there all day?”
“Um. We weren’t too sure about the dog,” said Jerry.
She reached out a long, white, elegant hand to scratch Cerberus. She nearly fell over. “Come on in, do. He’s a soppy old thing really, and I do feel like some company. Liven this place up a bit.”
Bemused, they went in. The goddess looked them over, with a faintly silly smile on her face. Her eyes fixed on Lamont. “Ooh! Hello, handsome. I do so like Ethiopes.”
She gave a little ladylike burp. “Hermes came with a message that the Ethiopian had to be sacrificed. It seemed such a pity. I’m so glad you’ve got another.” She turned to Medea and whispered hoarsely. “They’re so sexy, don’t you think, priestess? I like dark colors. It’s what I found so attractive about Hades. But Hades is so staid.”
Lamont looked as if he hoped the earth would open up and swallow him . . . and take him to Hades, if he wasn’t there already.
She swayed closer. Ran her fingers up Lamont’s arm. “I’m Persephone. But you can call me Kore.”
Cruz sidled up to Medea. Sotto voce he asked: “Which ‘sweet wine’ did you use for those libations to this Persephone?”
“The amphora with the white flowers, and the hunting scene,” answered Medea, puzzled.
“Oh lord! That wasn’t wine. That was Mac’s ‘brandy.’ That stuff that he distilled. It’s a helluva lot stronger than wine.”
“I’ve still got quite a lot left.”
Persephone beamed at them. “So why are you all standing around like statues? Let’s have some music. Dancing . . . wine, laughter. This place is so dead. Hic. I’m so sick of being gloomy and reshpectable. Feel like kicking over the trashes for a bit. ‘S been a long time s . . . shince I had a party, and Zeus shays we’re all gonna be powerful again. Let’s shelebrate!”
* * *
Jerry got a sudden look of rapt concentration—what Liz had come to think of as his “terrier-scents-a-rat” look.
“Would you like another drink, Persephone?” he asked.
“Thas goddess Persephone to you, dear, but I’d love another drink. Let’s all have a drink . . . wooee, that last libation really went to my head. Great times are coming again!”
Jerry handed her the amphora with Mac’s attempt at “brandy” in it. “Tell us all about it.”
Persephone chugged straight from the amphora, spilling the liquor down her chin. “Not supposed to tell any mortals,” she said, doing her best to look goddesslike.
She vaguely handed the amphora away and staggered towards Lamont. “I’m always doing doom and gloom and misery. That’s Persephone: ‘sposed to be ‘xempt from the passions that make all the other gods mess ’round. I’ve got feelingsh too.” She threw her arms around Lamont and kissed him with noisy enthusiasm. “I’ve got to keep you prisoner. Going to enjoy tha’!” And then she slithered down to flop onto the ground. “Damn ‘gypitians. Don’ like pyramids. S’Greek temples not good enough for them?” She began to cry gently.
“Egyptians?”
“Prisoners?”
“Er. I think it is visitors that we have.” Henri gestured nervously at the gray host.
The dead clustered round in a great throng. Gray forms of warriors with gaping wounds, young men, women—but all in the garb of classical Greece. Except for the one who pushed his way forward—he looked as if he were a policeman from the early twenty-first century.
“Stavros is the name. Can you tell me what the hell I’m doing here?” asked the shade.
“We were kind of hoping you could tell us,” said Jerry.
Stavros told his tale . . . and then faded back.
More and more came. The modern visitors got no wiser.