He untied the rope from his waist.

How far in could they be? Surely they’re snagged on a tree or two out there. Why, it won’t matter at all if I leave them. I could just drop the rope and go.

This sounded real good. Sounded better than wrapping his arms around a tree, discovering that something with a pale face was standing on the other side.

Come on, Saul. Tie the fuckin’ rope to a tree.

So he did.

And once the rope was secure, he started to walk back to the south entrance. Back to the Jaguar. Back to the party.

But the darkness that ogled him a minute before seemed to move now. It looked like the trees were wet with sweat, not rain, that they could flex, curve in on him, hug him, crush him whole.

He stopped and turned around. Walking back to the rope he thought, This is the dumbest decision you’ve ever made.

But it was too late. He’d made it.

Picking up the rope, he started to follow it, hand over hand, tracing the route of his old friends.

“Neal!” he called. “Are you guys okay?”

Because he wasn’t sure. Because they’d been gone so long. And because he wanted to be there, on this night, when Neal Nash got what he was looking for.

Saul thought he knew what it was. Hell, Saul definitely knew what it was.

“You see a Great Owl in here?” he called.

Emotions warred within him. Guilt. Shame. Thrill.

The hunter in him was curious. The subservient friend in him couldn’t turn himself around.

If Neal Nash was going to bag a Great Owl tonight, it’d go down as one of the most legendary moments in the history of Goblin. Not good, necessarily. Not flattering. And yet…

“Neal? What do they look like? You seen one yet?”

He shoved the image of a pale witch out of his mind. It was easier to do while walking, while leaning on the strength and bravado of his good friend Neal, while imagining what it might be like to see one of the black birds in person.

Who else could say as much?

So scared as he was, hand over hand, Saul continued. And the adjustment to the dark that he expected never came.

“Neal! You see one yet?”

And his own voice sounded like a whisper. Like he was the one beginning to tell a story.

Once upon a time, a fabled hunter tracked the one thing he was not allowed to have…

“Neal!” he called, louder. “I’m coming! If you’re going to fall from grace, I’m going to fall with you.”

19

Harvey wanted to say, Neal, you can’t.

But it looked like he could.

The bird was incredible. The hunter in Harvey felt clean, warm water wash over his soul. For starters, the eyes, dark as they were, seemed to glow. The branch it was perched upon was illuminated, just enough, to show its astonishing feet.