The Mound in the Dark HEATHER was scanning into the computer a book that smelled of all its centuries when Randall answered the phone. She looked up to find him holding a finger to his faint smile as if hushing himself until she was ready for him. His bushy brows were raised high, and as their gazes met, his wide pale blue eyes gave in to a blink. "An American lady is asking for you," he said. She picked up the flat almost weightless receiver from his amiably strewn desk. "Heather Price." "Heather..." Her mother's voice sounded both determined and exhausted. "What's happened?" Heather said. "Your father's out. Six of them have gone into the woods." Her phone demonstrated its mobility with an outburst of vicious static and subtracted a few syllables from "I'm driving over there now." "Do you want me to as well?" "I wish you would. The more of us there are-" The completion of her thought was lost in a chorus of static, after which a tattered version of her voice said "We'll find each other." "I have to leave early," Heather told Randall, who was gripping his lowered chin and rubbing it with a thumb while he eyed a fluorescent tube that went some way towards bringing the rafters up to date.
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