“Shit, lady! You okay?”
Valentina ignored him and limped up to the fire. Her fingers looked stained with wine and seemed to be curled into involuntary claws. She leaned into the heat.
“Sorry, Alf, but you need to listen. You guys need to get going. Get home.”
“Okay, okay,” Alf said. “Heard, chef.”
He took another pull from his drink and glanced back at his friends.
“So, what do you want us to do though?”
“Like I said. Get back home. Get indoors. Someplace with lots of light and sound, if possible. We have business here, but you guys should get to safety.”
“Right, bro, the thing is. We were gonna camp here tonight. It’s a legit hike to get home. Like…hours. And on top of that…Inanswer to your previous question about my drinking, yes, I may be a little bit too drunk to get home.”
“I didn’t ask about your drinking.”
“Touché, Mr. Detective. Well played, bro.”
Jerome was fingering chords without strumming, making buzzing phantom music as he moved his fingers on the fretboard.
Casper stood and walked over. She seemed more sober than her friends.
“I live three hours away,” she said. “We spent the afternoon getting here. At least here we have the fire. That’s something, isn’t it? Like, better than walking through dark woods until twoa.m., I mean?”
Green thought of the victims at Kinkaid Cabins, the blond girl in the mint green coat. They were sitting around a fire too. Maybe somebody was playing a guitar. It didn’t do them much good.
At the same time, a long walk through the woods sounded like the least safe thing in the world when the fawn was actively pursuing sparks of life to snuff. Here, at least, he could warn them to run if the fawn approached. He would know because Catskill would know. Yet, they were also sitting in the heart of the fawn’s territory. If Valentina and Clara were correct, they were camping alongside the mechanism that maintained the fawn’s foothold in reality, the mechanism Valentina was about to attack.
He looked to his teacher.
Her resting expression had become a wince. The pale wisps of her frozen breath vanished into the campfire smoke.
“I believe you are correct in thinking the walk home may be the greater danger,” Valentina said. “The decision, of course, is yours.”
Alf hooked a thumb at the fire.
“Well, we got light. Jerome’s got sound covered. I plan to be out cold in a tent in the next couple hours. I’m gonna stick to that plan. Brother, I’ve made all sorts of bad decisions and these mountains keep letting me live anyway.”
Casper studied the rising sparks.
The little bubble of firelight created a dome of smoky, shifting branches beyond which the stars were muted glimmers.
“Yeah,” she said. “Me, too, I guess. What is it, anyway? Some kind of monster?”
“Not a monster,” Green said. “An animal. But it’s dangerous and we’re trying to figure out how to keep everyone safe.”
He wasn’t sure that logic applied to something from outside their universe, but Valentina met his eyes and gave him the slightest of nods.
Jerome began playing again, a low and slow version of “Folsom Prison Blues.”
To Green’s surprise, the young man sang as he played. He had a good voice, deep and resonant.
Alf sighed.
“Shit, bro. Old man music. He loves the sad old man music. Gotta say, though, it kinda fits the vibe. For once.”
“Alf, did you make the brochure for this place? The one I saw in the station?”
