“Yes!” Margot said. “I’ll show you! I’ll show you right now!”

The officer pulled her from the wet ground and thrust her ahead, toward the entrance. She stumbled forward and could hear the men following. She wasn’t thinking. Not like she normally would. Trembling, shaking, she entered the woods and stepped past the spot where the man who built The Hedges once exchanged vows with his wife. She crossed through the light that the cars created and stepped into the darkness of the woods. She didn’t have to listen hard to know the police were following her lead. They sounded like a pack of animals. Impatient…clumsy…hungry…

She had no idea where Wayne Sherman was and had no idea how to find him.

But she had a plan, a terribly flimsy plan, something to satiate the monstrous entities behind her.

For a time.

She would have to invent something equally insubstantial when that time was up.

She led the officers deeper into the woods.

22

Deeper into the woods.

Wayne forged on. Breathing hard now.

So many of the trails went uphill when you were so sure they were heading down. Wayne’s legs were on fire. The shifts in elevation. The ups and downs. He wasn’t used to it. The Hedges were flat, built on an open lawn. But the North Woods grew out of mad land.

He thought of Chief Blackwater and the settlers who hid in these woods. Wayne was no expert on Goblin history, but he knew that Blackwater claimed all of Goblin was bad land. As the key banged against his chest, he thought of Blackwater, Son of Blackwater, Farraline and Carroll, and the Original 60 settlers. He thought of the owls and the witch and all the stories young Gobliners learn before they’re old enough to know better.

He gripped the key through the parka.

Running, hiding, he felt suddenly as if it was his duty to keep the key hidden. That Goblin was nothing without its ghosts. That to return the thing to city hall would somehow be returning the entire soul of the city itself.

Wayne continued. Deeper.

The rain came through the web of treetops in volumes. The slow burning in his legs was getting to be too much. He was talking to the key now, but it didn’t sound like talking. Half words and mumbles obscuring the snapping of twigs that somehow continued behind him.

I’m not letting them have it, he thought. As if somehow the key and Molly were one. Both the spirit of Goblin.

Another snapping stick behind him. Was it the same officer? Many officers?

His eyes hurt from focusing on the darkness. The muscles in his neck tensed. It was as if he were rebuilding The Hedges, experiencing the unbearable effort once again.