The path was quiet as I walked, a few birds, nothing more than the usual animal noises. At the end of the path, I took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching me, then stepped to the left, as had been indicated in my instructions from Eammon.

Left was a shadowy bush trail that was barely visible from the main path, even though it was nearly noon. I pushed the bushes out of the way, knocked aside a few long strands of Spanish moss, and kept on the little bit of path I could see.

A guess, but I’d have laid money this was the way to Eric’s house.

From the corner of my eye, Robert suddenly appeared. Maybe he’d been there the whole time? I didn’t think so.

“How are you doing that?” I asked.

“Friend,” he muttered, swaying as he walked. I sighed.

“I doubt I’ll get any clear answers out of you, huh?”

Just as I thought, there was no answer to that either.

After an hour of pushing through the bush on a trail that was barely there, the path became more obvious, clearly laid out as a route and not just a bush trail. A few rocks lined the sides of it here and there, and I caught a whiff of wood smoke. Really? Who would have a stove on this time of year? The heat was already climbing into the eighties most days.

“Must be getting close.”

That’s what I said, and then a snap of a twig behind me stopped me in my tracks. That and the point of what felt like a gun in my lower back.

Slowly, I put my hands up. “Don’t shoot.”

“I can’t guarantee that.”

16

A growling voice rumbled behind me, competing with the normal sounds of the marshy forest around us, the sound not all that different than Sarge’s when he was in his wolf form. The gun pressed into my back dug in a little harder and a bead of sweat rolled down my neck. “Who are you?”

“I’m Breena. Are you Eric?” I asked. “I met you a couple weeks ago at the Hollows Graveyard?” I didn’t move. It didn’t sound like Eric, and I had a hard time imagining the lanky fellow with a gun in his hand, never mind using it on someone.

But if he was as paranoid as Eammon thought, it wouldn’t take more than an itchy trigger finger for him to end up blowing a hole in me.

Maybe not the worst way to go, but I didn’t plan on dying just yet. Of course, that was assuming this was indeed Eric.