“What d’you call ’em? Paragliders,” Alex’s grandfather murmured, watching them. “The Kandel is a popular launching spot. Giving up because of the rain, probably.” By the time the pilots had packed and gone, there were only a handful of other empty cars left around.

“You have the, ah, tablet?” Alex’s grandfather asked quietly.

Alex nodded.

“How are you feeling about it?”

“Not sure.” Alex took a deep breath. “I think I might have an idea. I can try, anyway.”

“Good man. Where we’re going is just a little way down the hill.” The old man pointed. “There’s a path over there.”

Towering trees closed in as they picked their way along a thin track that wound muddily down a steep, stony slope. Birds chattered and called. After a while they came upon a small gray hut, sitting oddly alone in the forest, perched out on a high rocky shelf above a valley. There was a bench outside, sheltered by the overhanging roof. Alex’s grandfather sat wearily and beckoned Alex to join him.

“Always worth taking a moment for something like this,” the old man said, gesturing ahead. “Remind yourself you’re alive.”

The view was devastating. The world spread out beneath them in jagged ranks of blue-black hills and mountains that rolled away through a thin ocean of fog toward a horizon where earth and fog and cloud all melted together. On distant slopes, mist rose from the darkness of the trees in massive, mysterious columns that glowed strangely where they met scattered shafts of sunlight.

“Course, you need a clear day to really appreciate it.” Alex’s grandfather waved a hand at the vista, then removed his hat, produced a handkerchief, and mopped his face. “In good weather, you can see as far as the Swiss Alps. But even on a day like today it’s quite something. Maybe more so on a day like today. Over there is Freiburg, that’s an interesting town, and down there Feldberg, where they do a lot of skiing, for some reason. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the attraction. Just another way to break an ankle, if you ask me. Oh, and you see that big hill, they call that . . .”

He broke off and looked at his feet.

“Hah. Name escapes me. You’re in the center of it all here, Alex. The Black Forest. This is where all the stories come from. All the tales of big bad wolves and magic mountains that open and swallow people and witches and demons. And wicked old people who eat children. There’s a reason for that. You can feel it when you sit among these trees and look out on a view like this. Remember I told you, there are places on earth where things get thin? Well, this is about the thinnest of all. The Black Forest . . .”

The old man suddenly tensed. “Hold on.” It was barely a whisper. “I hear something.”