Theo popped his head through the open window. “Make sure my book gets published. And tell Kay’s mother that we tried.”
“No,” Mitchell said. “Nothing quite so … final. I meant, what do I do if you don’t show up at the house?”
“Knock on the door and wake that harridan and that half-wit,” Egon said. “Tell them the truth and pray that dog is asleep.”
“Audentes Fortuna iuvat,” Mitchell said. He waved good-bye as they climbed over the guardrail and disappeared into the woods.
“Forward,” Theo said.
With no path to follow, Theo and Egon had to pick their way down the incline through the trees, alert for any roots or ditches buried beneath the shag of fallen leaves. Up on the road, Mitchell started the car and drove away to the meeting spot. They had decided beforehand to walk blind through the forest without using their flashlights until they were actually in the barn, so as to not give themselves away. But that meant being alone in the forest in the dark and subject to its bewitchments. The pines brushed against their faces and arms and the white birch glowed like skeletons. The slightest noise became a fox or black bear. Stirring in the undergrowth meant a snake. Every breath escaped in a small cloud. Theo could feel the beating of his heart, hear the suddenness of his gasps. They stumbled and stopped to a rest at the bottom of the hill.
The stream was dead ahead, shards of moonlight breaking on the gliding water. They were nearly upon it before realizing how wide it was, and of course, there was no way to tell just how deep it might be. Huffing from exertion, Egon put his hands on his knees when they reached the banks of the stream. Theo turned on his flashlight and played the beam across the surface, a few stones hunched against black water.
“Looks like we could use a boat,” Egon said.
“A ferry across the Styx, Mitchell would say.”
“We could turn back now. Or I could try to find a way stone by stone.” Egon hopped from the bank to the first stone, and Theo followed him, conscious of the music of the water against the rocks. They forded the stream until the very last stone. Egon gauged the leap incorrectly and landed on the edge with a splash. “Christ!” he shouted and hopped to the bank. “Cold as a grave.”
With his longer legs, Theo jumped onto the soft shore. “Are you all right?”
“Mes souliers sont chiés,” Egon said. “And my socks are sopping, too. But here we are.”
Running along the edge of the pasture was a wooden fence topped by a thin strand of wire.
Theo flicked on his light and studied the obstacle. “You don’t think it’s electrified, do you? I wouldn’t want you getting zapped, wet as you are.”
“Fortune favors the brave,” Egon said, and without hesitation, he climbed up and over to the other side, with Theo fast behind him. At the top of the meadow, the barn loomed in the darkness, blotting out the moon and stars.
An owl, white as a ghost, screeched as it passed overhead. Beating its wings soft as a whisper, it flew to the cupola atop the roof. Faint notes from a mandolin reverberated as it landed, and a round of laughter came from the upper loft of the barn.
“What the hell is that?” Egon whispered.
“Music.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Coming from the barn or from the house? You don’t suppose they’re dancing in there?”
“It’s the puppets.”
“Are you sure about this?”
Egon said, “I am certain she is one of them somehow. A puppet. Black magic. Two kinds of people come to the supernatural: some who don’t believe and some who approach the world in all its inexplicable dread and wonder. There’s only one way to know if I am right or wrong. If I’m wrong, what harm to us? And if I’m right, then there is a chance we’ve found your Kay.”
“Ridiculous, can’t be…”
“Don’t let doubt be your enemy, mon ami. Trust what you hear and see, and let your heart be your guide.”
Following the old goat trails, they zigzagged up the hillside. Halfway to the barn, they could see the light seeping through the cracks between the boards and hear stray voices and the clomp of dancing feet coming from the loft. The whole building seemed strangely pulsing and alive. Atop the rocky ledge by the cote, they stopped and found a small doorway just the right size for a goat or a sheep.
“That’s my entrance,” Egon said. “No use you crawling in on hands and knees through the muck. You go round to the front, and I’ll make my way through and unlock it and let you in, unless I get caught up in the polka. Just be careful if you hear that hellhound. Go on, then. Bonne chance.”