“No. I can hear you here.” Fingers tapped his ears. “But not here.” Tapped his forehead. “You’re not in my head. No one is in my head but me. I’m all alone.”

“And you’re usually . . .”

“Not. Not alone. Not ever alone.”

“You’re not usually alone in your head.” That was the sort of statement that needed considering. Charlie listened to the staccato, neo-punk rhythms of her younger sisters for a moment, then let them fade. “You hear what people think?”

“Think. Think. Think. All the damned time. People never stop thinking. So noisy. So shattered. Think. Think. Think.” His mouth was open, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. He spun around in a circle, first to the right. Then to the left.

“It’s okay. Calm down.” Here in the Wood it was harder to keep it a suggestion. Charlie did the best she could.

Dan stared out from inside a mismatched collection of twitches and visibly forced himself to calm. He closed his eyes. Nodded. Opened his eyes. “I think I should sit.”

“Not a bad idea.” Charlie held out her hand. He glanced down at it, then up at her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Your choice,” she told him, “but you’ll find it easier to move if we’re in contact.” The dirt and callus on his hand made it feel more as though it were covered in bark than skin. It felt almost familiar, almost like Uncle Edward’s hand near the end, thirty odd years on hooves having left its mark. Resolutely not thinking about the likely composition of Dan’s dirt, Charlie led him through the Wood to where memory placed a tree that would serve as a bench.

The fallen tree was exactly where she remembered it. Exactly how she remembered first seeing it fifteen years before. The Wood untouched by time, the tree untouched by rot. They could stay here as long as Dan needed, the only time brought in with them.

Dan clutched his chest as he collapsed down onto the log, and Charlie gave him a moment to catch his breath. She’d taken family as well as Jack’s Uncle Ryan through the Wood, but that had always been on a direct path in and out; walking within the Wood was an entirely different matter and she had no idea how far Dan thought they’d traveled.

He concentrated on breathing for a moment; then, when he sounded less like he was sucking air through a hookah, he unbuttoned his trench coat with shaking fingers. Then the coat below that. As the top two layers folded back like stained flower petals, he reached into the next layer—Charlie thought it might be a pinstriped suit jacket—and pulled out a plastic water bottle. Given the color of the liquid half filling it, she really hoped it wasn’t water.

Dan unscrewed the blue plastic cap and titled the bottle toward her. “Drink?”

“Thanks, but no.”