“How deep are we?” Harvey asked. But he wanted to ask, How deep are we going to go?

Then Harvey got dizzy. Neal’s light gave him just enough of a view to keep going, to take another step, but never enough to explain to him where they were. All this darkness…all this night. The woods felt huge now. Overwhelmingly so. He imagined Saul standing where they left him, the one brick of reality he could count on. Harvey had to get back there. Sooner than later. The deeper they walked, the more anxious he became. And the whispers, too. The rising tide of wind through the branches, the sound of many thoughts, as if the trees were (yes) capable of orchestrating such things. Neal made a hundred quick decisions and they all blended into one bad one to Harvey.

The terrible decision they’d made to enter the North Woods.

“Here,” Nash whispered. And the one syllable was strong.

Nash came to a stop. He laid the excess rope on the ground and illuminated the space ahead with the penlight.

Neal started to take off his poncho.

“What are you up to, Neal? I know you’re not firing at random out here.”

Neal nodded. “It’s my birthday, Harvey. I thought I might dress up for the occasion.” He pulled the poncho up and over his head. Then he removed his suit coat, too. And beneath it, Harvey saw a red velvet jacket.

“Where’d you get that?” Harvey asked. But what he wanted to say was, What are you hunting for out here, Hunter?

“It’d be nice to think that the owls were attracted to Trachtenbroit himself, wouldn’t it, Harvey?” Nash let the poncho fall to his feet. “That they saw some sort of…protector in him?”

“What are you talking about, Neal?”

Neal smiled. He actually shone the light on his lips so Harvey could see him smile.

“The birds weren’t attracted to him, buddy. Any great hunter knows that. They liked his coat.”

Then Neal extended his arms outward, palms up. He looked high to the treetops.

Above him, in plain sight of his old friend, a small piece of night, seemingly resting upon the branch of an impossible tree, began to rotate, a head turning, a mythic face coming into view.

“Neal…is that a—”

“Come to he who owns you!” Nash demanded.

The red dots that marked the Great Owl’s eyes looked down at the two Gobliners.

“Neal.”

But Nash was already reaching over his shoulder, into his quiver of arrows.

18

Saul had long lost his nerve; now he was losing his mind. The darkness of the North Woods wouldn’t stop staring back at him. He was scared. Scared good. Every noise was a witch. Every drop of rain the beginning of a story.

He wanted to wake Roger up. Wanted badly to untie the rope, go to the car, wake Roger up and tell him, Look man…I just can’t be alone in there anymore!