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“It’s a nice, clear night,” he said as he resurfaced. “I’m glad we don’t have to worry about any fog.”

Which could definitely be a hazard in Silver Hollow. Maybe not as much as it might have been if we were closer to the coast, but we still had days when you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

“That’ll make things easier for sure,” I replied. “And at least this time we know where we’re going.”

Thanks to the GPS app on his phone, Ben had been able to save the course we’d taken when we left the woods. Hard to believe that it had been less than twelve hours ago.

Anyway, we would be able to come and go much more quickly than we had the first time, which could only help.

If something really strange emerged from that stone circle — say, a manticore or a hydra — then I’d be beating feet out of there like an Olympic sprinter.

The more dangerous creatures, though, seemed to rarely make an appearance. I didn’t know if that was because there were so many fewer of them, or because there was some sort of guardian on the other side who was doing their best to make sure those of us here on Earth remained relatively safe.

I thought it better not to mention any mythical beasts, though, not when the people at the booths next to ours could overhear what we were saying.

“Yep, not much chance of getting lost, thank God,” he said.

As he spoke, he smiled, but there was something almost guarded about his expression, as though he knew he couldn’t say what he’d really been thinking.

No, instead he made a comment about the brisket, and I told him how George Adams, the owner of Hog Wild, had moved to Silver Hollow about five years ago from Memphis and started providing some real Southern barbecue.

Ever since then, the place had been pretty much packed every night it was open, which was six days a week, with Wednesdays off.

Good thing we’d come here on a Tuesday.

All completely innocuous, the sort of thing I would tell someone who was new in town. If anyone had been listening, they probably would have checked out of our conversation pretty quickly.

When Katy came by with the check, I grabbed it before Ben could even start to reach for the little slip of paper.

“My treat,” I told him. “You’ve paid for our meals plenty of other times.”

And also, even though I would never say something like that out loud, I knew my net worth had to be many times his.

A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Okay. But I’ll cover it next time.”

Well, if there was a next time. However, that was yet another sentiment I thought I’d better keep to myself, so I only smiled at him in return and then scooped some twenties out of my wallet and left them on the table.

Ben clearly noticed that I’d way overtipped because one eyebrow went up ever so slightly, but he only said, “Thanks for dinner,” and then began to slide out of the booth.

I followed suit, and soon enough we were outside and making our way down Main Street. We’d both decided to walk the entire distance rather than drive to a trailhead, mostly because we wanted to advertise our presence in the forest as little as possible.

Even at almost eight-thirty, a faint glow off to the west signaled that the day wasn’t quite over yet. Soon enough, though, full dark would be upon us, and I was glad of the flashlight I’d stowed in my backpack — and the one I assumed Ben had in his.

“Did you remember to get new batteries?” I asked him, my tone only a little sly.

“I did,” he said, not rising to the bait. “Headed over to the hardware store and bought myself a pack. I would’ve rather gotten rechargeables, but they only had As and triple-As, and the flashlight takes D-cells.”

Something I’d also noticed — and commented on, since I’d tried to switch over to rechargeable batteries wherever I could.

But Ray, the owner of the hardware store, had only told me there wasn’t enough demand for rechargeables in the bigger sizes, and since he had limited space, he needed to focus on the things the people around here needed.

“Well, I suppose the important thing is that you got something,” I said. “And I brought a flashlight, too, so we should be all set.”

If it really was just a case of his flashlight’s batteries dying the night before, and not something more nefarious. For all I knew, the stone circle created some kind of energy field that would kill any unnatural light source nearby.

And then I thought I was getting a little too far left of field, so I pushed the theory aside.

The glowing bioluminescent plants hadn’t been affected by the circle at all, so I guessed the flashlight’s failure right when we needed it had been simply dead batteries and nothing more complicated than that.

Although there had been enough ambient light to get by when we started out, by the time we reached the forest’s edge, it truly was dark enough that both Ben and I deployed the aforementioned flashlights. His shone clear and bright, so I knew the batteries really were fresh.

Now I just had to hope they would last for the trip in and out. No reason why they shouldn’t, I suppose, but I didn’t know how much of an energy hog that particular model of flashlight was.

Probably, my thoughts kept tumbling over themselves like that because I’d rather focus on inconsequential things than try to ponder what would happen once we got to the clearing with the stone circle.

Up ahead, the forest glowed with pale, eldritch light. I glanced over at Ben, and he gave a small nod.

“Then again,” he said, as if continuing an inner thought, “it’s possible that the glowing plants don’t have all that much to do with the circle. After all, we’ve both seen them in other parts of the forest.”

I supposed that was true enough. On the other hand, the only otherworldly plants I’d ever spied had been the fairy bells, those delicate blossoms that so closely resembled lilies of the valley.

The clearing with the circle of stone was the first place where I’d encountered a carpet of soft, glowing moss.

“We’ll find out in a minute, I suppose,” I said.

Sure enough, there was the little glade with its collection of strange plants and flowers and moss, all of them glowing gently in the darkness.

No stone circle, though, and I sent a questioning glance at Ben.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked down at the screen. “Eight-forty,” he said. “I think we need to wait a few more minutes before it’s true dark. That might be why the circle of stone hasn’t appeared yet.”

Or it could be that it wasn’t going to show up at all. Last night might have been our only chance.

Well, until the next new moon, anyway.

But then the air seemed to waver, and past the glow of the plants, the circle of standing stones flickered into being, one moment as transparent as a gathering of ghosts, the next moment, solid as a range of mountains that had stood there for countless millennia.

My breath caught, but I managed to say to Ben in an undertone, “I guess you were right.”

He didn’t bother to demur. “I guess so.”

By some unspoken agreement, we both stepped forward. The glowing plants moved gently, as if swayed by an unseen breeze, and nothing tried to stop us.

And in the same unconscious accord, our hands reached out, our fingers twining together like a couple of kids who wanted to approach Santa Claus but didn’t have the courage unless their friend was by their side.

The carvings were still there. Ben murmured something under his breath, a word I didn’t recognize and yet somehow knew was the word “dark” whispered in a language that hadn’t been spoken in more than a thousand years.

My lips parted — I’d planned to ask Ben, What now? — but I didn’t have a chance to get the words out. A rustling in the underbrush to the rear made us both turn.

Standing there was Victor Maplehurst, with the foreman from the crew at Welling Glen and another man I didn’t recognize flanking him on either side.

“Good evening,” Victor said politely, casual as though he’d just bumped into them while waiting for a table at Hog Wild. “I had a feeling you would be drawn to this place.”