"Dad said that it was hidden. You need to talk to the Wendigo to find out where."

"Impossible," Myers said. "Those are just Indian fairy tales."

"Nope," Harbinger said. "The Bottoms belong to him. We have an understanding."

"Fine. We'll handle it. You and your thugs can clean up the local undead outbreaks," Myers snapped. "We'll set up on the Place and blow the Cursed One to kingdom come."

"One problem," Julie said. "The Wendigo isn't going to talk to you. You're going to be wandering around the woods for weeks. You know what the Bottoms are like. The rules don't apply there."

"Let me guess," Myers said. He exhaled slowly, apparently trying to control his anger. "This thing will talk to you people though."

"He'll only talk to me," Harbinger said, before adding with a note of barely concealed disgust, "looks like we're going with you."

Myers cursed. The man had a remarkable gift for creative profanity.

"Looks like we get to work together," I told Franks cheerfully.

The silent brute just nodded as he patted his Glock, doubtlessly contemplating the moment he would finally get to use it on me.

"This is it," I said. "We know where the Cursed One is going to be. We finish this tomorrow-one way or the other."

"About time," Sam said. "Grant was one of us. That slimy bastard is gonna pay." The big cowboy kicked at the gravel.

"Yeah," Milo added with what was for him, unusual somberness. He wore his night vision monocular and scanned back and forth across the property.

The three of us were standing in the darkened driveway of the Shackleford ancestral home near the vehicles. We were waiting for the others. Gretchen was applying some first aid to Trip after the little bit of "stick time" he had received. Holly was grabbing some gear. Harbinger and Julie were standing about a hundred yards away, talking quietly amongst themselves. Apparently Julie had a few things that she needed to speak with him about privately. The Feds had left, quite a bit worse for wear after the beating that some of them had received from Harbinger.

"What do you think they did with him?" I asked. I did not like the way that we were talking about our companion as if he were already dead, but I could not realistically see much hope for the alternative.

"The Old Man's journal said that they needed to sacrifice a Hunter to use their device," Milo said. "I'm guessing that poor Grant is going to get himself sacrificed."

"Sucky way to die," Sam agreed.

"Do they need to keep him alive until the full moon? There is a possibility he could be alive still."

"Maybe," Milo said. "We can hope." He sounded doubtful. Most of the seasoned Hunters' missions involved search and destroy, rather than rescue.