THE GROTTO By Jack Mackenzie 
I WAS impressed by the sight of the mansion as I carefully maneuvered the Buick up the curving driveway. DaVinci merely grunted as he looked out the passenger window. It was a classic example of gothic stone architecture with dark wood accents surrounded by verdant greenery.
Our client was waiting for us at the foot of a stone staircase, which led up to an ornate entranceway. He wore a casual, loose-fitting outfit made of silk. He had his trademark pipe clenched in his teeth and he was flanked by two nymphs in mini-skirts.
"You must be DaVinci," he said, coming forward with his hand outstretched as DaVinci pulled his lanky frame out of the car. "I'm Rusty Steppner."
DaVinci shook his hand and nodded. He gestured back towards me. "My assistant, Jimmy Dupont."
Steppner favoured me with a brittle smile, which I returned. My attention was distracted by the nymphs.
They were beautiful and they seemed somewhat unearthly. They were tall and statuesque and, despite the ubiquitous bangles and peace symbols, they were elegantly coifed, which was a pleasure for me to see. There was so little elegance around these days. They were beaming bright smiles at us and had alert, accommodating expressions.
They were exactly the kind of women that had made Rusty Steppner a wealthy man.
Steppner introduced them. The blonde was Candy and the brunette was Paula. DaVinci gave them a perfunctory nod and moved off into the house with Steppner. I smiled and held out my arms. Candy and Paula each grabbed one and we ascended the stairs together.
I was going to enjoy this case.
We were ushered into a plush salon with a high ceiling. One wall had large picture windows, which looked out onto the grounds.
Steppner offered us a drink. It was ten in the morning so DaVinci opted for tea. Steppner had a whiskey.
He sat back with his glass and looked out the window. "It's going to be a wonderful place, Mr. DaVinci," he said. "I'm going to close up my Chicago operation and move it all out here and I'll spend the rest of my days basking in California sunshine."
DaVinci nodded. "That sounds pleasant enough." he said. "Exactly where is the problem?"
Steppner gave DaVinci a piercing look, then sighed. "It's my fucking grotto," he said, draining his glass.
* * * *
STEPPNER led us out of the building and into the large expanse of back lawn. The whole space was surrounded by trees and shrubs for privacy, but Steppner had other plans for it.
"I'm going to plant all sorts of things," he said as we walked down the gently sloping yard. "I want to have a kind of a maze--like a mini jungle. And I want to import animals from all over; monkeys, tropical birds, that sort of thing."
Finally we came to the grotto.
It was a shallow pool in front of what almost looked like a naturally jutting rock. I say almost, because it was built in front of an obviously man-made hill of cement. Most of the cement structure was covered in a dark, loamy soil, but there were still bare patches here and there. The front facade looked like a natural rock formation with two cave mouths on either side of the rock face that jutted into the pool.
"It's not much to look at right now," Steppner said. "When it's finished it's going to be remarkable. If it gets finished."
"What is the exact nature of the problem?" DaVinci asked.
Steppner shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "I was hoping you could tell me that. All I know is that the workmen refuse to go in there any more. I had almost a dozen men--stoneworkers, artisans, and others--working on this project. The contractor was a fellow named Dooley. When one of his men went missing..."
"Went missing?" I asked.
Steppner shrugged again. "That's what they said. The other fellows swore that the man went into the grotto and never came out."
Paula shuddered beside me. I looked at the half completed grotto. It seemed perfectly prosaic here in the warm sun.
"Curious," DaVinci said. "What else?"
"After that there were a number of strange incidents. The workers claimed that they could hear moaning noises inside the structure. They claimed that they heard voices whispering and odd banging sounds."
DaVinci pursed his lips. "Banging is not an uncommon sound at a construction site."
"That's what I said," Steppner agreed. "The cave itself resonates. Sound from outside comes in and bounces around, especially when it's filled with water."
"Did you witness anything unusual?" DaVinci asked.
Steppner hesitated the briefest second before answering. "No," he shook his head.
"Anything else?" DaVinci asked.
"Some of the workers claimed that one of my girls kept coming around and watching. They'd tell her to go, that it wasn't safe to lounge around. They said she'd go, but then she'd show up again a few hours later."
"Did you talk to her?"
Steppner shook his head. "That's just it. None of them had been anywhere near the place."
"Are you certain?"
"Most certain," Steppner said. "We've had shoots going on all week involving all of the girls. I'm going to have a big feature in the next issue showcasing the house. They were all busy inside with the photographer. None of them went anywhere near the grotto."
DaVinci nodded briefly and looked back towards the unfinished grotto, a thoughtful expression on his face. He let out a breath then turned to Steppner. "I'll have to stay close to the structure for a while," he said.
"You can stay at the house," Steppner said. "There's plenty of guest rooms."
DaVinci nodded. "We'll have to settle the money first."
Steppner glanced at me, then back to DaVinci. "Money is no object. This place is going to be a landmark one day, but more than that, it's going to be my home. I'll pay whatever it takes to make that happen."
DaVinci nodded and named a figure that made me blink in surprise. Steppner didn't even hesitate. "I'll have my bank issue you a cheque in the morning."
I tried not to goggle. Even with DaVinci and I now living in separate places, I in my apartment in Brooklyn and he in his old house in the country with his daughter, the money would be enough to keep both of us going for several years.
"I won't cash it until you are satisfied that I have achieved the desired results," DaVinci said. "Although there may be expenses along the way."
"That's fine," Steppner said as he moved back up to the house. "Spare no expense, Mr. DaVinci. Just help me get my grotto built." He and the girls walked back up the slope, leaving DaVinci and I alone.
I edged closer to DaVinci. "Can you do it?" I asked.
"I believe so," he said. He didn't take his eyes off the grotto. "Steppner's not being completely candid with us."
"I noticed that," I said.
"I need more information. Stroll around the grounds. Talk to people. If you can talk to the contractor or any of the workers, all the better."
I nodded. "And you?"
"I need to get some history on the grounds," he said.
* * * *
BACK up at the house we found Steppner greeting more visitors at the door. More ladies had arrived along with two gentlemen carrying camera equipment.
DaVinci approached Steppner and pulled him aside. Steppner nodded, made his apologies and he and DaVinci ascended the grand staircase.
The four ladies who arrived were all as beautiful and statuesque as Candy and Paula. "Rusty wants to finish the shoots today," Paula said, coming up beside me. "We've been doing sessions all week over the house. Rusty wanted to finish with a photo essay of the grotto. He's very disappointed."
I nodded. "What exactly happened to make work stop?"
Paula gave me an uncomfortable look. She watched as the photographers and the other girls dissipated to various rooms in the house, then moved over to the couch and sat down. "Mr. Steppner told you about the worker that went missing and the noises."
"I know," I said, sitting down beside her. "But I want to hear your perspective. Were you here when it all happened?"
Paula nodded, clearly uncomfortable now. "I remember the workers. They were all right. Candy and I would sunbathe around them ... in the buff, you know. We thought we'd give them a bit of a thrill. Everything was fine except for one guy--Seamus Flannigan. He was Dooley's young cousin, I think."
"How young?"
Paula shrugged. "Eighteen, maybe."
"This place would have been quite an education for him," I said.
She shook her head. "He didn't like it. He'd been raised in Dublin by a strict Catholic aunt, or something, so us being naked offended him. He came over with the stones."
"Stones?"
Paula nodded. "The stones they used to build the grotto. They were imported from some abbey in Ireland. Dooley arranged it and Seamus traveled with them on the ship. Dooley was going to take him back to Ireland when they were done, but then..." she gazed out the picture window, a wistful expression clouding her features.
"Do you suppose he just wandered off?" I suggested. "Perhaps the conflict between his Catholic upbringing and this..." I stopped myself before I said what I was going to say. "...Xanadu--for lack of a better word--became too much for him."
Paula frowned. "I could believe that except ... Candy and I saw him go into the grotto. Once you're in that tunnel there's no way out--no back door. So did most of the other workers. We all saw him go in and none of us saw him go out."
"When did they realize he was missing?" I asked.
"Almost right away. One of the workers went in to check on him and he was gone. They searched everywhere. Dooley became really upset and had a big argument with Rusty. That's when they all left."
"They didn't come back?"
"Dooley came back a few times. He'd check out the grotto, but he wouldn't go back to work on it. Except for one night, but Rusty had to stop him."
"Stop him? Why?"
Paula shrugged. "I don't really know. It was late and I was asleep when it happened. I gather Dooley was trying to tear the thing down. Rusty said he was drunk."
"What else did Rusty say about that?"
"Not much. He was pretty shaken up after that. He wouldn't go near the grotto for days afterward. I don't know what Dooley said ... threatened him, maybe ... but it was soon after that Rusty called in Mister DaVinci."
I nodded. I was about to ask another question when I was distracted by Candy coming into the room. She was in her birthday suit and was followed by one of the photographers. "Sorry to interrupt you, man" the fellow said. "I wanna make use of the light in this room. You wanna get in on this, Paula?"
"Sure," Paula said as she stood up from the couch. As casually as you please she started taking off her clothes right there.
I'm not a prude, and no one appreciates the female form more than I do, but somehow, after sitting with her, talking to her like I had, I felt uncomfortable with the idea of suddenly seeing Paula naked. It just seemed kind of empty without dinner and some dancing beforehand. Besides, with Candy and the photographer in the room as well, it felt a little crowded. I casually wandered out of the room.
Outside in the entranceway I saw Steppner coming down the staircase. "Your Mr. DaVinci is quite a unique individual," he said when he saw me.
"He certainly is," I smiled.
"I've just left him in the library with all of my records about the house. Sales documents, assessments. He wanted to see everything."
I nodded. "He's very thorough. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions?"
Steppner shrugged. "Fire away."
"Dooley," I managed. As soon as I said it a sour expression stole over his face. "I take it you're not pleased with the man."
"That's putting it mildly," he said, darkly. "Miles Dooley was recommended to me as a fine contractor. He seemed very competent at first. Then his young cousin ran off and he just fell apart."
"You say his cousin ran off..."
"Of course he did," Steppner said, rather adamantly. "He was a young kid from a very strict religious background. He was a long way from home and didn't agree with our beliefs over here. I don't think he liked America much. He called it the 'Land of the Dead'."
I nodded and made a non-committal noise. Many young people didn't seem to like America much these days, and they didn't have to be from Ireland. "Tell me about the night Dooley tried to tear down the grotto."
Steppner's expression darkened. He shrugged. "Dooley was drunk. He was angry and he blamed me for his cousin's disappearance. He came over and tried to tear apart the grotto."
"You confronted him?"
Steppner heaved a sigh. "Mr. Dupont, I have paid a lot for this house and I paid Dooley a lot to build my grotto. I wasn't about to let him tear it down. Yes, I confronted him."
"And what happened?"
Here Steppner hesitated as he had done before when DaVinci asked him if he had witnessed any of the odd events. "Dooley took off," he replied flatly. "I haven't seen him since."
"You haven't tried to get him to come back to finish the job?" I asked.
"No." Steppner said, turning away abruptly. "I'm a busy man, Mister Dupont." he called over his shoulder. "I've got a magazine to put out." and with that he was gone.
I stood in the entranceway for a moment, then headed up the stairs. The house was labyrinthine, but I eventually managed to find the library. DaVinci was sitting at a round mahogany table with a single Tiffany lamp for illumination. He was surrounded by Steppner's records.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"Better than you," DaVinci replied without looking up.
"How do you know I'm doing poorly?" I asked.
"You wouldn't be up here talking to me if you were actually making progress." he said.
He was right, of course. If I were making progress I'd be following leads and not bothering him while he was conducting a paper hunt. "Maybe I'm getting too old for this." I said.
"I should think so," DaVinci said, still poring over the exhaustive mound of documents. "Time was when a pretty girl was enough to keep you moving until you stumbled across some useful information. Now you have a whole house full of naked nymphs running around and you don't know what to do with yourself. You're slipping."
I grunted. Maybe he was right. I shrugged. "It's just no fun without the foreplay. It's like the steak without the sizzle. Besides, Steppner keeps clamming up when I press him about Dooley."
"Supernatural denial," DaVinci muttered. "You and I see it all the time. It's cost us a few paycheques as well."
"Hopefully not this one. Where did Steppner get a hold of Dooley?"
DaVinci furrowed his brows and began digging through a pile he'd set aside. He pulled out a dog-eared and stained contract. "Miles Dooley lists his address as an establishment called O'Roark's. It's a pub. Dooley rents rooms above it."
I took the contract and jotted down the address. "Thanks Harlan," I said and left him alone in Steppner's library.
* * * *
DOWNTOWN Los Angeles is almost all freeway, so navigating my way to O'Roark's with the Buick was a bit of a challenge. Eventually I found the place and made my way inside.
At the long oak bar I sat on one of the stools in front of a bowl of pretzels and ordered a beer. The place was quiet and dark and there were few other patrons. It was late afternoon and the overhead speaker was playing Let It Be.
The bartender was an older black man who wore a shirt like a barber's. I laid down a buck for my beer and asked him about Miles Dooley. He took the bill and pointed to a corner booth.
Dooley looked like he'd started drinking three days ago and hadn't got around to stopping yet. He wore a ratty old blue sweater on his skinny frame and three days' worth of rust-red stubble on his chin. He looked blearily up at me as I approached.
"I hope what you build is steadier than you are," I said as I sat down opposite.
"Who the hell are you?" Dooley slurred, his Irish lilt as thick as a T-bone steak.
"Name's Dupont," I said. "I wanted to ask you about your cousin, Seamus Flannigan."
I felt a presence suddenly looming behind me. I stiffened and got ready to slide out of the booth. Before I could do anything a giant hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned and looked at an incredibly tall black man standing beside me.
"This honky buggin' you, Miles?" the man's baritone rolled down at us.
Dooley blinked at the black man, then waved him off. "It's alright, Leroy" Dooley said. "Let him talk."
The hand let go of my shoulder and Leroy sat down beside me in the booth, pushing me over into the corner. I tried my best to smile disarmingly at the newcomer, but he seemed unimpressed by my winsome grin.
"You a cop?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I'm not a cop."
"Then what are you?"
"I'm an assistant paranormal investigator," I said, deciding to confuse the fellow with the truth. "I'm an associate of the Inner Circle, an adept of the second level, as well as a licensed thaumaturge." So I lied about the thaumaturge. How was he going to know?
He blinked at me, now completely uncertain of how to continue, which was what I wanted.
"What did you want to know about Seamus for?" Dooley asked me.
"The folks at Rusty Steppner's house seem to think he ran off. The prevailing opinion is that the rampant hedonism at Steppner's mansion offended his deep seated catholic sensibilities."
"That's a lie," Dooley spat. "Seamus didn't run off. He wouldn't ha' run off. Where would he go?"
I shrugged. "You tell me, Dooley. Where did he go?"
Dooley made a face and drained his glass. He gave his companion a pleading look. The fellow snapped at the bartender and two beers were brought over.
"Seamus wasn't bothered by it," Dooley finally said after a healthy swig of his fresh brew. "Not religiously, anyway.. Seamus was Catholic, yes, but he'd lapsed. He'd seen the troubles first hand. His parents, my aunt and uncle, were killed by a bomb in Belfast."
"Victims of the IRA?," I asked.
Dooley shook his head. "Victims of their own carelessness. They were setting the bomb in a protestant school when it went off prematurely. Seamus arrived at the scene in time to see them wiping what was left of them off the walls." Dooley shook his head and took a healthy swallow. "He'd seen the horror and turned his back on it. Catholic, Protestant, he didn't care. He just wanted away from the violence.
"When I invited him to come to America, he jumped at the chance. I hired him to supervise the transport of the stone from Drohgheda, just north o' Dublin, from an old ruin. I told him if he brought me the stone I'd keep him on."
"So he came over with the stone and started working on Rusty Steppner's grotto with you?"
Dooley nodded. "He was young. The naked birds ... they confused him. He was a teenager ... they've got urges, you know."
I nodded. I knew.
"So these birds are teasin' him. Teasin' us all, really, but we know how to handle it. Seamus doesn't. He's just come from Ireland where his parents were blown to bits and now he's in America and it's confusin' to him. He goes inside the grotto, just to get away from it, you know? Leroy made a joke."
"I wish to God I'd kep' my mouth shut," Leroy said, shaking his head.
"It's alright," Dooley said to his friend, then he turned back to me. "We all saw him go into the grotto. We'd built the bloody thing, so we know there's no other way out. When he didn't come out Leroy went to check on him. He was gone."
"Like he'd vanished into thin air," Leroy said. "Damndest thing."
I nodded. "What about the woman that wouldn't go away?"
Leroy grunted. "Carrot top," he said. "Red haired girl. She wore a gold headband and hippie clothes--Sandals and some sort of robe. You'd be workin' inside the grotto and suddenly she'd be there behind you. Bitch gave me a heart attack more than once. I told her to fuck off, but she wouldn't say a thing, just stared like she was high or somethin'."
Dooley nodded grimly. "She was there that night when Steppner took a swing at me."
I raised an eyebrow. "Steppner tried to hit you? Was that the night you came back to the grotto to tear it apart?"
Dooley made a face. "I was drunk, but I didn't go back to tear it down. After Seamus disappeared I swore I could hear him callin' to me. The others heard it too. That's why they wouldn't go back inside. I called to him, asked him where he was, but it was like he couldn't hear me."
"Are you sure you weren't just ... imagining?" I asked.
Leroy shook his head. "I heard it, too. It was as real as I'm sittin' here. It sounded like it was comin' from inside the rock."
"It was," Dooley said. "I admit I was pretty cut, but I know I heard his voice comin' from inside the stone, and Steppner heard it, too."
"Steppner came out to the grotto?"
"He was already there when I arrived. So was the red-haired woman. At first I though she was one o' his bitches--that they were havin' it off in the cave--but he was just talkin' to her. Then we heard Seamus' voice cry out from inside the stone."
"How did Steppner react?" I asked.
"He damn near pissed himself," Dooley said. "He was terrified. He ran outside, leavin' me alone with the red-haired woman. Then she vanished."
"She ran outside with him?"
Dooley shook his head. "She vanished right in front o' me eyes," he said. "Like smoke. I ran outside and grabbed Steppner. He was wailin' like a schoolgirl. I tried to ask him who the woman was. He swung his fist and just missed catchin' me on the chin. I went down and he ran back into his house."
"What did you do?" I asked.
Dooley finished his second beer. "I came back here. I started drinkin' and I ain't stopped. I won't stop, neither. Not now that I' seen me one o' the good people."
I blinked. "Good people?"
"The fey folk," Dooley said. "The fairies."
Leroy let out a breath. "Man'" he said. "You are one fuckin' drunk Irishman."
Dooley looked at Leroy then began to laugh. It wasn't a happy kind of laughter. It was the kind of laughter that you knew wouldn't stop, not even when the boys in the white jackets came to take you away.
* * * *
AFTER that Leroy dragged Dooley upstairs. I got back into the Buick and braved the freeway again. By the time I pulled up to Steppner's mansion it was fully dark.
Inside the lights were bright and the stereo was playing some lively jazz. Dinner was being served, buffet style. The girls, the photographers and Steppner were all enjoying the food, the music and some free-flowing champagne.
I was more than a little shocked to see DaVinci amongst the revelers, but there he was in his old tweed suit, sitting on a low stool, balancing a plate of food on his bony knees. He was in what looked like earnest conversation with Candy, Steppner's blonde companion, while he picked at his beef Wellington.
Paula spied me and came over. She grabbed my arm and led me to the table. I loaded a plate and Paula grabbed two glasses of champagne. I sat on a chair next to DaVinci. Paula sat next to me.
"I see you're making progress," I said, leaning towards DaVinci. "Though I must admit, it's not usually the kind of progress you make."
DaVinci narrowed his eyes at me. He was genuinely confused and had not picked up on my insinuation, which was reassuringly like DaVinci. "Candy's been telling me about the red-haired woman," DaVinci said. I nodded. I should have known better than to assume that DaVinci was chatting with a pretty girl for the mere enjoyment of it, yet I couldn't help feeling disappointed. Since Eloise's death he had become more taciturn and misanthropic than ever. "There have apparently been several sightings of this mysterious woman," he said.
"I know," I said. "I've gathered a few stories about her today as well."
"Did you see Dooley?"
"Yes," I said. "He'll be moving soon--into a padded room. He was raving about the fairy folk."
DaVinci gave me a sharp look. "He may not be as insane as you think. Tell me everything that happened to you today. When we're done you and I will examine the grotto."
I nodded and began telling him about my day. When I was done we dispensed with our plates and excused ourselves. In the entrance hall he took my arm and guided me to the front door. "We need to make a stop at the car," he explained.
Outside the front of the mansion DaVinci asked me to open the trunk. I did and waited while he rummaged amongst our suitcases and bags.
DaVinci emerged from the trunk with a red cloth bag tied with a white drawstring and his cane with the griffin handle. Before I closed the trunk I grabbed a large flashlight and so armed we walked around the mansion to the back and the grotto.
"Steppner's records were most illuminating," DaVinci said as we walked. "This house was the former home of a wealthy industrialist named Flannigan."
"Flannigan?" I said, looking sharply at DaVinci. "That was the name of our missing Irish boy."
"Exactly. Flannigan built the house in the early 1900's and his family lived in it until the late 1950's. After that they fled their adopted land and returned to Ireland. The house was left to run down until Steppner bought it and restored it."
"The Flannigans," I said. "Were they Catholic or Protestant?"
"Neither. As far as I can tell Flannigan practiced a strange form of pagan religion derived from early Celtic mythology. It's the main reason he left Ireland. He believed that America was the mythical 'Land of the Dead'."
"That's what Seamus called it," I said.
DaVinci nodded. "It's also known as the 'Land of Youth'. These are names for the mythical Celtic Fairyland--the Home of the Fey folk. Traditionally it was believed to be located west of Ireland, across the ocean."
"Well, you can't get much farther west of Ireland than California," I said.
"The Fairy folk were also known as the Danan," DaVinci went on. "The children of a goddess named Dana. Their stories go far back into Irish history, long before there was any form of writing."
"So they weren't like Tinkerbell?"
"No," DaVinci scowled. "The modern conception of the fairy is a bastardized version of the original idea. In Irish myth unwary travelers would encounter the Danan, be seduced by their music and become trapped in their world. Entrances to the Danan's land would invariably be found in close proximity to some sort of mound."
We were at the grotto now. It loomed in front of us in the darkness. I could see the moonlight reflected on the surface of the water. The twin cave mouths yawned darkly at us.
I shone the flashlight at one of the mouths. The water continued on into the cave, but there was a stone walkway leading in. DaVinci and I followed the walkway.
The inside of the grotto was a large space built to look like a natural cave. The pool inside was almost as big as the one outside, but there was also a large open lounge area made up of flat, smooth stone. Sounds from outside came in through the cave mouth and echoed eerily throughout the chamber.
Almost immediately we began to hear something. It began as a formless noise, like a vibrating string that would slacken and then tighten again. Then it began to change and it coalesced into a voice.
"Miles..." the voice moaned. "...where are you...?"
I glanced sharply at DaVinci who seemed unsurprised. He wore a mask of concentration as he tried to pinpoint the voice's location.
"...Miles..." the voice spoke again, this time stronger. It was clearly the voice of a young man. It could only be Seamus Flannigan.
DaVinci listened intently, moving around the grotto, trying to discern the location of the voice amongst all the echoes. As he moved he tapped the end of his cane against the stones, listening to the sound as it bounced around inside the cave.
"...Miles..." the voice moaned. "...where are you? I'm cold..."
I felt a shiver run down my spine at the far away sound of the voice.
DaVinci merely kept moving around, tapping the stone.
Suddenly she was there. The red headed woman that Leroy had described. One minute I was looking at a stone wall, the next she was standing in front of it, tall and regal. She glared at DaVinci.
"Harlan," I warned. DaVinci turned and looked her in the eye. He pointed his cane towards her.
"We've come to get the young man back," DaVinci said, boldly.
The woman flashed her eyes at us, and I could see the signs of a sharp Irish temper.
"The young man is blood of our blood," the woman said in an accent that sounded old--almost Germanic. "He will take his rightful place beside the high seats of kings."
DaVinci slowly advanced towards the woman, his cane still outstretched. "The man is mortal," DaVinci said. "He is blood of a mortal family."
"He has Danan blood. He is the son of the son of Ecne."
"The son of Ecne knew a mortal woman," DaVinci said to her. "The issue from that tryst turned her back on the people of Danan."
The woman drew herself up to her full height. "Do not trifle with me. I am Brigantia, daughter of Dagda, mother of Ecne. The young mortal shall be mortal no more, so long as he is with us."
DaVinci shook his head and continued his advance pointing his cane in front of him. "The young man must be returned."
I noticed that the woman would not leave a certain spot on the floor. She was clearly uncomfortable with DaVinci's cane, but the would not back away from the flagstone upon which she stood.
DaVinci seemed to sense that as well. He got as close as he could. Her eyes blazed with anger, but she stood tall and defiant, never lifting a foot from the stone.
Suddenly there was a splash from behind me. I turned and saw Rusty Steppner running through the shallow water of the grotto. He was wearing a robe and silk pajamas. His arms flailed as he ran to the far wall where DaVinci and Brigantia stood eye-to-eye.
"Take me with you!" Steppner shouted as he splashed.
DaVinci took immediate advantage of the distraction. He had hold of his cane by the griffin head. Now he tossed it upwards. As it came down he grasped it by the haft and turned it so that the griffin head was facing down. He raised it up, then drove it straight down onto the flagstone between the woman's feet.
I winced in anticipation of the cane shattering on the stone, but it didn't. The moment the griffin head touched the stone the grotto was suffused with a harsh, white light. A roaring sound echoed round the chamber and I could feel a blast of hot air move past me.
Suddenly we were not in the grotto anymore. We were on an open field under an overpowering dark sky. Steppner suddenly let out a great shout of joy. He was lying on the ground; his robe and pajamas still soaked from the water.
I could hear the sounds of horses racing across the field. The riders all had long, flowing hair. I saw other figures surrounding us. All of them were tall, young and beautiful.
"Now you see," Brigantia said, her voice a booming noise that rolled over the wide plain. "Look upon the land of the Danan. See the paradise that we can make of your mortal lands. Worship us! Worship us again and live in peace. Or turn from us into chaos despair. The choice is yours."
"I want to stay!" Steppner shouted.
Among the figures surrounding us I saw a young man with short fair hair. He was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and workboots and an expression of fear and misery. It could only have been Seamus Flannigan.
DaVinci still held his cane with the griffin head intact. He held it in front of him now, as if it could ward off these beautiful youths. The Danan seemed to have a respect for it and kept their distance.
"You can stay," Brigantia continued. "But if you return, once you set foot upon your own soil, you will be trapped in your own world forever. You will be unable to return to the land of youth."
"Jimmy," DaVinci shouted over his shoulder at me. "Grab hold of Seamus. Quickly!"
I did not hesitate. I ran to where the young man was standing and grabbed his arm. He gave me a worried look, but seemed to sense that I was not someone to fear.
As I grabbed Seamus, DaVinci pulled out the red cloth bag and reached inside. He pulled out a fist filled with a white substance and flung it through the air.
It hung briefly in the air before falling to the ground, but the effect was remarkable. The Danan scattered as if they were suddenly under napalm attack. I felt some of the stuff hit me and Seamus and I saw a great clump of it fall onto Steppner who was just climbing to his feet.
It was salt. DaVinci had filled the red cloth bag with common table salt.
"Jimmy! To me!" DaVinci shouted.
Keeping my grip on Seamus I sprinted to DaVinci. DaVinci grabbed me around the shoulders with his free hand and I held Seamus tightly.
"No!" Steppner screamed. He seemed to realize that something was about to happen. He reached up and grabbed the back of DaVinci's coat. "Stop! No!" he screamed.
But it was too late. DaVinci struck the ground with the griffin head again. I felt a sudden and violent sense of vertigo, as if I were suddenly on a maddeningly spinning merry-go-round, then with a violent lurch we were all four back inside Steppner's grotto.
"NO!" Steppner cried. He fell back into the water, his body suddenly wracked with heaving sobs.
* * * *
WE managed to get Steppner out of the water. His raving and shouting very quickly turned into an incoherent babble. We dragged him out of the grotto and I managed to get him over my shoulder in a fireman's carry and lumped up the lawn with him.
He was lighter than I'd expected him to be. I suddenly got a sense of frailty and age from him that I had not noticed before.
The girls crowded around us as soon as I was close to the house. They took him from me and helped him inside, handling him with genuine concern and tenderness.
I found DaVinci speaking quietly with Seamus. He was giving the young man his standard 'Encounter with Supernatural Forces debriefing'. Seamus had the a wide-eyed, shell-shocked look that we'd seen many times before.
I stood apart, waiting for DaVinci to finish. I looked up at the stars. They were reassuringly real. They were distant and cold, but, just like all of us mortals, they would eventually grow old and die.
* * * *
DAVINCI and I were in the Buick driving north. I would spend a week with him and his daughter before driving back to New York.
We had stayed at Steppner's until the morning, just to make sure he was alright. He slept fitfully until about noon the next day when he woke grumbling and complaining about a hangover. He did not remember the events of the night before and DaVinci and I said nothing, save to inform him that his Grotto was clean of all supernatural influences.
It had become clear to us that, far from wanting his grotto exorcised, Steppner had used DaVinci to open the door to the realm of the Danan. Because of that we didn't feel comfortable at the mansion anymore so we spent the night in a hotel and hit the road early the next day.
DaVinci was showing me the still-intact griffin headed cane. "It's made from pure iron," DaVinci explained. "That and the salt were enough to keep the Fey folk at bay. The red cloth of the bag would have done it as well."
"Why?" I asked.
DaVinci shrugged. "It's metaphorical. Iron represents the passing from Stone Age to iron age. Salt used to be employed as a preservative to stop meat from aging, something unheard of in the Danan's world. The red cloth is simply a non-natural colour. All of these things were intrusions into the Danan's universe."
I nodded. "So young Seamus was the offspring of a Danan and one of Flannigan's daughters?"
"Yes," DaVinci replied. "It seems that was the apex of the Flannigan family's history of Celtic worship. The experienced seems to have frightened the young couple back to Ireland."
"Right back into the arms of the Catholic Church as well as into league with the IRA." I supplied. "Poor Seamus. I hope his return will pull Dooley back from the brink. But what about Steppner? He wanted to stay with the Danan, but now he doesn't remember a thing."
"The memory of being there and not being allowed to stay was too traumatic. He's blocking it out," DaVinci said, staring out the window at the rolling countryside. "Steppner worships youth and beauty. You've seen his magazine. He is sitting on the pulse of America and helping to foment a cult of youth and beauty."
"Would that be so bad?" I asked. I was thinking about the beauty of the Danan world. "What if the earth became like the Danan's world?"
"Where would there be room for you and I?" DaVinci asked. He shook his head. "Age and wisdom have their places just as youth does. If we praise one to the detriment of the other we will end up in a world out of balance."
As I watched the road I spied a small cluster of young people on the road, hitchhiking. Their hair was long, their clothes were loose and colourful. They wore beads and symbols and bright, smiling expressions.
But they would age. "'Youth's the stuff t'will not endure'" I quoted.
DaVinci nodded and smiled sadly.