Alex started to follow, then stopped. He checked his phone again. His scalp tingled when he saw a new message from Kenzie.

Can’t remember.

You need to go to the right I think.

He rubbed his forehead and looked out on the view, trying to shake off thoughts of witches and devils and dead men. It didn’t work. He grabbed the cord and started climbing. A few minutes later he stood catching his breath beside his grandfather, thirty feet below the hut on a wild slope where no path could be seen. The old man led away, threading between trees.

Soon they came to a silent place where the trees stood back to form a ring around a large area entirely covered by broken rock and massive boulders. It was a picture of devastation, a gallery of shattered stone. More smashed rocks formed great cracked steps on the slope stretching upward through the trees toward a towering gray cliff face.

“What’s all this?” Alex said. Granite shards shifted under his feet.

“Where the rocks fell,” his grandfather said. He gazed up toward the serrated peaks above. “The night the mountain collapsed. We’re standing among the pulverized remains of the Devil’s Pulpit, Alex. Ah, let’s not hang around.”

They continued down the wooded slope. It grew so steep that Alex marveled that the trees managed to stay standing. He concentrated on keeping his footing. In places the ground had dissolved to mud.

“Okay, Alex,” his grandfather said, suddenly halting. “It’s time to try to get Harry now.”

Alex swallowed. He felt a heavy weight pressing down on him, did his best to ignore it. They had come to a small clearing. He noticed a rough mounded spot by his feet, covered in leaves and broken branches.

“Okay,” Alex said. He peered past his grandfather into the trees ahead. Some kind of secret lair hidden down there? He dropped his voice. “I’m ready. So what’s the plan? Where’s Harry from here?”

“Hah. Well. That’s the thing.” His grandfather stood pulling at one ear, then offered a curious, apologetic smile. “Ah, you’re . . . Well, you’re standing on him. More or less.”

Alex stared blankly. He searched around his feet, the disturbed ground, the pile of dead branches and leaves.

“Huh?” An underground lair?

His grandfather rubbed at his brow, covering his face for a moment. When he dropped his hand, he looked more tired than Alex had ever seen him. The old man gave a hopeless shrug.

“I, ah . . .” His voice was hoarse. “I had to bury him. Here. The other night.”

Alex stared, uncomprehending.

“They killed him, Alex.”

The words took a long time to travel across the clearing. Alex felt as though the slope tilted steeper, dropping away under his feet. He stumbled, then sat on the damp ground. Still, the world kept lurching downward. He looked up, trying to steady himself. Sunlight glinted among black leaves. Birds cawed to one another not far away, ravens maybe, and his grandfather spoke again.