Then he heard the sound of heels clicking against the floor and knew who it was before she said his name.

“Neal, really,” Barbara said, her voice falling like leaves between the stuffed beasts. “Disappearing from your own party. It isn’t like you to avoid the spotlight.”

When she came into view, Neal stepped toward her. They met a few feet from the bird, surrounded by so much game.

“Barbara,” he said, taking her hand, “I have something to show you.”

Barbara lifted a finger to shush him. “But first, I have a gift for you.”

Neal now noticed she was carrying a box. “I’ve already opened your present, dear. You wouldn’t want to spoil me, now, would you?”

“You opened the present I wanted the others to see,” Barbara said. “But this”—she held the box out to him—“this is my real gift to you. Happy birthday, Neal.”

Neal took the box and held it against his poncho, still wet from the hunt.

“Thank you, Barbara. Love of my life.”

He opened the box.

Barbara smiled as his eyes widened. A deep low moan rose in his throat.

Neal stuck his hand in the box and pulled the bird out by its feet. Its black feathers looked no different under the hangar overheads than the feathers beneath the glass behind him.

“Barbara…”

“I know,” Barbara said. “I almost feel guilty about it.”

A Great Owl. No doubt the first.

“B-Barbara…”

Neal stumbled back. Shaking his head no.

“Barbara. I was supposed to be the first…I—”

“Oh, don’t fuss over what’s right and what’s wrong, Neal. You wanted an owl and I got you an owl. I did it last week.”

A cloud as misty as the Goblin sky passed over Neal’s eyes.

“What have you done?”

His voice echoed harsh through the hangar.

Barbara was taken aback. “Why, isn’t that obvious, dear? I bagged you a Great Owl. The first in the history of Goblin, I daresay.”

Neal fell to his knees.

“Neal…what are you doing?”

The bird fell in a feathered pile beside him. He could feel himself slipping…falling…

“Neal, dear. You must get ahold of yourself.”

But Nash no longer heard the pleading of his wife…the voice of the first Gobliner to bag a Great Owl.

He felt himself slipping. Falling.

From where?

“From grace,” he said. “From the books…”

“Neal…”

Neal Nash screamed; a deep bellow of rage that rattled the rafters of his trophy room…the nerves of his wife…and the glass that shielded his meaningless catch.

“Stand up, Neal,” Barbara said, impatiently. “For Christ’s sake. You’re making it sound like I did the most terrible thing in the world. It’s not like I’m not worried as it is. I broke a rule, Neal. A big one. For you.” She shook her head. Neal wept. “You might’ve thought you’d been hiding your desire for that bird all along, dear, but a wife knows. A wife knows. And no silly ordinance has ever stopped us before. It’s a wonderful gift, Neal, and when you finally come to see that the North Woods aren’t going to miss one owl, you’ll thank me for giving you the greatest gift of your life. Happy birthday,” she said, flummoxed still. “Happy birthday, Hunter.”