By Jove

by Marissa Doyle

  She peered out from behind the couch again and saw Julian usher Andrew and his parents toward the stairs. She started to breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I know you’re in here, my dear. And that there must be a reason for your not wanting to be seen. I ask that you wait here for me while I give these good people their tour, and then perhaps you’d be willing to tell me why you left all the lamps in midair. Very careless of you, you know.” Julian’s voice, low-pitched but clear, reached her from across the room. There was the sound of the stairwell door closing.

  Theo waited a moment then tottered over to it, still shaking, and slipped down the stairs to the basement. How could she have been so stupid as to forget the lamps? Maybe June wasn’t so far wrong. Now Julian knew she was skulking around Hamilton Hall. Oh, why hadn’t Olivia gotten back yet?

  She carefully opened the door into the basement. If there was any justice in the world, Dr. Bellow would be up in the museum at this time of day and she could search his office again for the entrance to the labyrinth. It was time something went right.

  …

  There was no justice. As she tiptoed down the dim corridor, Theo saw a rectangle of light spilling from an open doorway. Drawing closer, she could hear the squeaks and sighs of an ancient wooden office chair and the rustle of pages turning. Dr. Bellow was in his office, dammit. Olivia had said something about his spending a lot more time down here lately. Of course he would be if he were guarding the entrance to where Grant was being kept.

  How could she get him out of there? She tiptoed back up to the second floor and looked cautiously around the door, listening for voices. The corridor was blessedly silent. She dashed down it to June’s office.

  “I went down to Dr. Bellow’s office. That’s where I need to go, isn’t it?” she whispered fiercely at June without preamble.

  June motioned her from the doorway. “Yes,” she hissed back. “So what are you doing here?”

  “Dr. Bellow’s in there. And Julian caught me in the Great Room. How can I get past them?”

  June frowned and drummed her fingers on her keyboard. Then she smiled. “Julian’s on his way upstairs to show Andrew’s parents the museum. He’ll find that it’s locked, and that I don’t happen to have the key handy.”

  “So?” Theo shook her head. “He doesn’t need a key.”

  “Think, you little fool. He does when he’s with mortals. He can’t exactly wave his hand to unlock it in front of Andrew and his parents, can he? He’ll come back down here, and I’ll have to call Dr. Bellow to bring the key up. While he’s doing that, you’ll be able to get into his office.”

  “Won’t he just send the key up here like—” She waved her hand.

  “No. He doesn’t think we should use any powers during the school year. He’ll bring it up to Julian.”

  Theo tried to calculate how long it would take him to walk up the stairs and down again. “That won’t leave me much time.”

  “No, it won’t. So you’ll have to think fast, won’t you?” June replied coldly.

  “Why can’t you just tell me where it is?” She was perilously close to tears.

  “Because I don’t know. Don’t you think I’d tell you, if only to get you out of my sight? This is the best I can do. Now go and hide near his office. As soon as he’s gone, go in. You’ll have a good seven or eight minutes. Longer, if I suggest that he stay with Julian to give them their tour. But I can’t guarantee that will happen, especially if Julian thinks you’re sniffing around the building again.” She shooed Theo out. “Go before Julian comes down looking for the key.”

  Theo ran back down the corridor and down the stairs. She had reached the landing between the first and second floors when she heard the third floor stairwell door open. She cowered next to the bust of Octavian and waited as brisk footsteps came down the stairs and stopped at the second floor door. After it had swung shut she nearly fell down the rest of the stairs to the basement, and dove into an unlocked closet as she heard Dr. Bellow’s voice say, from just the next door, “I’ll be right up,” in a long-suffering tone, followed by the click of a telephone being put back in its cradle.

  I haven’t used this much adrenaline in years. Theo closed her eyes and tried to calm her pounding heart as Dr. Bellow’s slow tread and sotto voce grumbling moved past her and up the stairs. Then she slipped out of the closet and toward his office.

  She and Olivia had, as a matter of course, already searched the basement and sub-basement of Hamilton Hall. In fact, it had been one of the first places they looked. But a late-night going-through of Dr. Bellow’s office, down to the files in his cabinet and the panels of his large wooden desk, had revealed nothing. Nor had their search of any other place down there revealed anything.

  “Don’t waste your time looking where we’ve already searched, Fairchild,” she muttered to herself, pushing the door open. “Think—and for God’s sake, listen.”

  There was the same large desk, a little tidier now than it had been a month and a half ago now that classes were over. The ancient wood filing cabinets were shut, but she didn’t spare them a glance. They’d already looked there. No false doors, no hidden stairways. Not even any mirrors to climb into. Olivia had laughed at that last suggestion. “This isn’t a fairy tale, Theo,” she’d said.

  “Too bad it isn’t,” Theo muttered aloud. She peered around the back of the door. Nope, no mirror. Damn. She set the ball of June’s twine in a chair and looked around her in desperation. “Open sesame!” she commanded, throwing her hands up helplessly.

  A sound from behind the desk startled her. She whirled around. It had been a snuffling, grunting sort of noise. Then there was a rustling, and a faint clicking sound. And now, a low growl—

  Theo stifled a curse. Kirby, Dr. Bellow’s dog, was slinking around the edge of his desk. It was his claws making the clicking sound as he inched toward her. How could she have forgotten him? Dr. Bellow had said he was staying down here now because too many students had been troubled by allergies around him. He must have been asleep behind the desk, and she had woken him up with her foolish exclamation.

  “Nice doggy,” she said in her best coaxing-Dido-into-having-her-nails-clipped voice. “Nice—” The words died in her mouth. Kirby was still scruffy, still gray, still projected a hostility that made a rabid pit bull look like a hamster in comparison. But when had he grown two more heads? And why did he suddenly not seem so small anymore? “Kirb—” she mouthed, and then realized. She was seeing him now with immortal eyes. What else would Dr. Bellow’s dog look like? And why hadn’t she brought a lyre like Orpheus?

  Like I could play it. Thanks for telling me, June. “Good Kirby,” she whispered hoarsely, backing toward the office door. That’s what you were supposed to do with aggressive dogs, wasn’t it? Even three-headed ones? Not make eye contact and back away? She kept her eyes averted, staring at the floor at her feet as she shuffled backward, trying not to whimper. Weren’t you supposed to not let an aggressive dog see that you’re afraid of him? But how was she supposed to do that when there was cold sweat dripping down her forehead? Dammit, where was that threshold? Surely she’d almost found it—

  Chapter Twenty-two

  All at once there was a rush of cold, damp air on her face as she stepped backward into the hallway, air that smelled old, somehow, musty and dead. At the same time the worn linoleum floor at her feet started to change, the color-flecked gray tiles flowing and running like water, re-forming as pitted, crumbling concrete. Kirby’s low, evil growls faded into silence. What was going on? Theo looked up.

  Where the door into Dr. Bellow’s office had been was a stone archway. And instead of the slightly shabby but comfortable basement office that had been beyond the doorway an instant ago there was a corridor, lit by a bare lightbulb some ten feet away. Its glow only made the damp walls look danker and drearier. Beyond the light, the corridor turned right.

  “It can’t be,” Theo whispered. She took a few steps, then looked behind her. The archwa
y was gone as well. Behind her the corridor continued, dirty yellow paint flaking from its walls, at least a dozen pipes of various diameters clustered near its low ceiling. She stared, and walked a few more paces backward, wrinkling her nose at the vaguely unpleasant smell of the air.

  On the wall was an old-fashioned brass fire extinguisher, the kind with a large wheel-shaped valve on top. She and Olivia had seen one just like it when they had searched the sub-basement of Hamilton Hall back in April. She looked closer, and saw that the dust on its top had been brushed away—just as she had done to the one they had seen that day. But the sub-basement corridor where it hung had ended in a blank wall a few paces beyond that extinguisher, and she and Olivia had turned back after spending a few minutes speculating on how old it must be.

  A sudden excitement gripped her. Was it possible that this was the sub-basement of Hamilton Hall? But why hide it? Why have this part of it only reachable through Dr. Bellow’s office, unless—unless

  Unless it was because Grant was hidden here.

  But now what?

  The sub-basement contained the labyrinth. It had to. “You are in a maze of twisty passages, all alike”, said a small voice from her memory. But mazes and labyrinths weren’t necessarily the same thing. A maze was intended to deceive, conceal, befuddle. A labyrinth was indeed made of twisty passages, doubling back and forth on themselves, but there were no blind alleys, no dead ends, no intent to confuse: the twisting, doubling path led inevitably to a center.

  Would this one be a true labyrinth or a maze? And if it were truly a labyrinth, would Grant be at its center? Guarded, perhaps, by a Minotaur? She shivered again. She had no weapon, no magic sword or Gorgon-faced shield. Nor was she a Theseus, who had throttled his Minotaur with his bare hands. But at least she had her ball of—

  “No!” she cried, pounding the wall with a fist. She had put the twine June had given her on a chair, just before that cursed dog had woken up and scared the daylights out of her and made her back over the threshold and find the doorway. No weapon, no ball of string to help her find her way out, no way to know what exactly lay ahead of her in this loathsome place—

  And no Grant, if she gave up now.

  She squared her shoulders and started down the stone passage.

  …

  She moved gingerly, trying not to brush against the peeling, flaking walls. Bits of paint and crumbling concrete crunched underfoot as she walked. The pipes in the ceiling were sweating; occasional drips of water landed on her head, making her jump. The dim bulbs set at irregular intervals in the ceiling made creepy tentacle-like shadows through the pipes, shadows that she tried to ignore. Worst of all was where a bulb had burned out; there Theo found herself almost running from one pool of dim light to the next, able with her immortal vision to see in the dark yet fearful of seeing too much.

  When she paused under a bulb to catch her breath after running through one such dark stretch with her eyes nearly closed, she heard it—a scratching, scrabbling sound, coming from somewhere overhead. She glanced up. Bright eyes peered down at her from the shadows between the pipes clustered near the ceiling. Rats! She shuddered and walked quickly away, but the scratching sound never seemed very far away. How could Grant have stood this for all these weeks?

  So far the passage had had no branches or divisions, which made her feel better. Then it had to be a true labyrinth. At least she wouldn’t need the string to find her way out again. Her and Grant’s way, she amended. Theo remembered the intense girl, a Greek and art double-major at her undergraduate college, who had created a labyrinth out of gravel and colored sand on one of the college greens as her senior thesis. Walking a labyrinth was a form of meditation for some, a way of reaching into oneself to discover hidden truths. If she weren’t so cold and scared, she might have enjoyed walking this one.

  That was a good idea, though—meditate. Relax and let her brain do the work. She slowed her pace and closed her eyes, letting her hearing guide her. At least with her eyes closed she wouldn’t have to see the mildew-stained, peeling walls and the sudden gleam of small rodent eyes peering down at her from the sweating pipes. After several minutes of just listening, keeping her breathing slow and even, she let herself start to think again.

  How far would it be to the center? She had counted two turnings so far, separated by fewer paces each time. An ancient classical labyrinth usually had seven nested circles, seven layers. Two down, five to go.

  But it couldn’t be that easy. She doubted she would find Grant at the labyrinth’s center, calmly awaiting her. Grant’s state of mind when she had visited him in his sleep had been anything but calm: she had felt his confusion, his fear, his sense of being somehow imprisoned.

  Or was his sense of imprisonment from something else, some other type of captivity than just physical? She shivered again.

  It wasn’t until the third turning that she noticed that the corridor around her had changed. The pipes had dwindled in number and finally vanished, and the flaking painted walls had changed to bare concrete, like the floor, and then something else. She paused under a lightbulb and rubbed it with her fingers, realizing as she did that the corridor had widened. Where before she had shrunk from brushing against the walls as she walked, now she saw that three normal-sized people could walk through this hall and not feel cramped or jostled. The ceiling too had risen. Now it was at least ten feet or so above her head. She stared up at it, and saw that it was rough and uneven.

  “Stone,” she murmured. “It’s all turned to stone.” She rubbed the wall again, marveling.

  That lightbulb was the last one. A flickering caught her attention in the corridor ahead, and she saw that it came not from a blinking, dying lightbulb but a flaming torch. She paused under it and held up her hands, but the bright flames gave off no heat. She rubbed her bare arms to warm them and wished she’d worn a sweatshirt as she paused for a moment to listen and think.

  She had passed the third turning and must be well on her way to the fourth. Halfway there. But to what?

  As she had walked, she had started to reach out with her new senses to search for Grant. At first she’d felt nothing. But lately, there had been a feeling of of something—some entity, just waiting. It had repulsed all her attempts to explore it, to identify it. Surely it couldn’t be Grant, whom she’d been able to feel plainly in her dream-journeys to him. But if it wasn’t Grant, then who—or what—was it?

  The fourth turning came and went. The length of time between the turnings was definitely shortening, so she must be getting closer to the center. At the same time, the sense of some other presence was growing.

  All right. So what if it was a Minotaur at the center of the labyrinth she was sensing? What would she do? Sword, she demanded, holding out a hand. An enormous claymore, as tall as she was, appeared in her hand and nearly pulled her over with its weight. She’d never be able to use anything like that. Not even if it were a more reasonable size. She let it clatter to the ground and tried again. This time a small pink plastic sword-shaped cocktail pick, complete with an olive, manifested in her tense grip. That made her laugh, but the laugh sounded alarmingly like a sob.

  Gun, she tried next, and found a handsome old chestnut-stock flintlock cradled in her arms. That was as bad as the claymore. She knew as much about guns as she did about particle accelerators. She set it carefully down this time, just in case it was loaded and did something unpleasant and explosive.

  What else—club? Spear? Rocket launcher? Did she honestly think she would be able to wield any weapon effectively enough to slay or disable a fearsome monster that was half bull? Cape, she muttered ruefully, and a red toreador’s cape appeared and draped itself over her arm. She laughed again, and the torch she had just passed burned brighter for a minute.

  “If I can’t bullfight with it, at least I can keep warm,” she said to herself, and pulled the cape over her shoulders. Weapons were obviously not the answer. But what was?

  The fifth turning came. Theo noticed it dis
tantly, her thoughts turned inward. Would the Minotaur be able to speak? Or at least to understand? Perhaps she would be able to talk to it, to find some way to help it, in exchange for Grant’s release. What would one use to bribe a Minotaur these days? Infinite grass? A private ranch in Texas? Plastic surgery?

  The sixth turning came. She began to realize how tired she was. How long had she been down here? It was difficult to estimate time here in the dark and featureless passages. She paused under a torch to look at her watch, and saw that it still read shortly before three—the time she had first set foot in Dr. Bellow’s office. Had time stopped inside the labyrinth, or just her watch? How would she be able to tell if she were reaching Grant in time?

  “You can’t. So maybe you’d better get a move on, girl,” she murmured aloud. “He won’t get rescued if you just stand here.”

  She hadn’t taken more than three steps, however, when a sound made her stop again. It was not loud or sudden: rather, it built in volume and then faded away, like a moan. A low, inhuman moan. She shook herself and continued walking, but she began to hear it more frequently as she continued. It reminded her of the lowing of cattle. Her mind veered from that thought.

  Whatever it was, it didn’t sound happy. Could it be Grant, injured or ill? Should she call out to it?

  That was when she began to notice the smell—not the damp mustiness of the sub-basement that had nearly nauseated her at the start of the labyrinth. This was different: sharper and musky, like an animal’s den. Like an animal’s—

  A louder noise made her jump. The lowing sound abruptly ceased, and a rumbling, breathy growl rolled toward her. She had scented whatever it was; had it scented her? In the torchlight ahead she saw a turn in the corridor. The seventh turn. So just beyond it must be the labyrinth’s center, along with the labyrinth’s inhabitant. The thought made her pause, the fear she had set aside before flooding back over her. But Grant had to be there, too. Theo took a deep breath—and plunged ahead.