The King's wards coiled around the field unit like a sleeping dragon, pulsating rhythmically and exhaling decay.

Ray had mistaken it for a stain on the ceiling above his desk, and it had overlooked him. Blankets and toes, Audubon had said. He wanted his blanket back, and his hoodie, and his coffee cup with a lid, and maybe a flamethrower. But the Golden Bough revealed things as they were.

"Shit," he said.

Byron pulled into the parking lot. "You nervous?"

"Can you see that?" Ray pointed to the top of the enormous crimson stain.

Byron turned his head sideways—Ray had taught him—and squinted. "That cloud looks like an uncircumcised dick?"

It really didn't.

"Never mind. Let's get this over with," Ray said.

Ranger Steve ran to meet them as they stepped out of the truck. Ray half-expected him to be trapped within the wards—suspended like a grape in a Jell-O mold—but he passed unhindered. The corrupt magic evaporated from his skin and clothes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Before they could answer, Steve pulled them behind the vehicle. "We had a meeting this morning. Jim told everyone you set the fires to cover up your grow. He's probably calling the cops right now."

"Frazer set us up," Byron said.

Ray peeked at Frazer's window; he had closed the blinds. "We're taking him down. Can you help?"

"I don't know what's going on, but I'm out. You should go too." Steve crept to his car and drove away.

"That went well," Byron said.

Translucent tendrils of magic swept across the asphalt at regular intervals, but the crimson stain had stretched itself thin to cover a larger area. It left gaps. A maw teeming with cilia opened.

One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand.

The maw stretched wider, opening a path to the blue tarp covering Carol's window— Linnaeus's doing or a trap.

One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Four one thousand. Five one thousand.

The maw snapped shut.

"Keep the truck running." Ray wiped his palms on his pants and double-laced his sneakers.

"We robbing a bank?"

Ray cracked his neck. "I'll get in, get paperwork tying Frazer to the fires, and get out before anyone notices. You're too big and too loud."

"That's true." Byron kissed his biceps. "Vaya con dios, brother."

The tendrils' pattern repeated. The maw would reopen in moments.

"Thanks." Ray opened his wallet and handed Byron a few crumbled bills. "For everything. I mean it."

"What's this for?" Byron asked.

One one thousand.

"The flowers—"

Two one thousand. Three one thousand.

"–see you on the other side!" 

Ray sprinted for the opening maw.

--

Byron shook his head.

That boy ain't right.

Ray played high-velocity hopscotch without a board, dodging invisible ninja stars, or laser beams, or battleaxes, or whatever the hell he was hallucinating. Trivia must have given him some real good shit.

He was quick, though. Byron would give him that. 

Ray threw himself forward, rolled over his shoulder, and vaulted over a phantom hurdle. When he landed, he turned sideways and crab-walked—well, crab-ran—the rest of the way to the field unit. His arms pressed out like he was trapped in a collapsing glass box. That last bit was probably the French girl's fault.

Byron yawned into his hand, accidentally kissing Andrew Jackson. Four Washingtons backed him up. He laughed and pocketed the cash.

Dumb ass can't count to twelve.

--

Ray dove into Carol's office and bit his lip to keep from screaming. He was not cut—the blue tarp had protected him from the remaining window glass—but the cilia had tasted him. If it had been on a hair trigger, like dionaea muscipula...

He kept still. The King's wards did not react to his presence. Perhaps the cilia were parasites or symbiotic gut flora, unable to communicate with their host. Or perhaps he had Linnaeus to thank. He crawled to the office door.

"Tell me as soon as JSO arrives!" Frazer shouted on the other side. "Those bastards aren't getting away with it!"

Frazer slammed the door to his office. He had probably replaced his chair already, too.

Two women spoke in hushed tones. Karen and another Forest Service employee that Ray had scarcely spoken with. M-something. Michelle? Mary? He pressed his ear to the door to listen.

"I can't believe Ray did it," M said.

"It's the quiet ones, right?" Karen said. "The quiet, weird ones."

"I think he's kind of cute," M said.

Well, now I feel bad for not knowing your name.

M continued: "Maybe the arson was Byron's idea. Didn't he want to fight a real forest fire?"

"Byron wouldn't do that," Karen said. "Ray was playing with that owl's corpse, and he sets fires. Oh my God, he probably wets his bed! He could be a serial killer!"

M laughed. "Wait... you're serious?"

"Well screw you, Karen," Ray whispered.

"Poor Byron," Karen said.

Ray swept Carol's porcelain kittens aside and searched through her papers, but found no trace of the salvage forms.

Someone knocked on a door. He froze. But it was Frazer's door, not Carol's.

"About damn time," Frazer said, leaving his office.

Ray cracked the door and peeked into the hallway. Frazer had left his office open and papers stacked upon his desk.

--

A JSO car pulled into the parking lot without lights or sirens. An officer removed a black leather doctor's bag from his trunk. He matched Rony's description of Huntsman—fit, grey-haired, vaguely Euro—but Byron had expected him to be bigger. Maybe he did Crossfit.

Frazer walked out of the field unit to meet Huntsman. "What took you?"

Byron slid down his seat.

Huntsman placed his gloved hand on Frazer's shoulder, walking him back to the field unit. "Stay in your office. It isn't safe."

"That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Not for you. For him."

"So go arrest him," Frazer said. "We can see your head, Byron."

Crap.

Byron slid back up and smiled big. "Good morning, officer! Would you like to see my license and registration?"

"That one is a distraction," Huntsman said. "Lumley is here."

"Nah, he's got bird flu," Byron said. "If you got questions, maybe I can help."

Huntsman walked towards Carol's window.

Double crap.

Byron leaned on the truck's horn.

Huntsman tore the blue tarp down.

--

Frazer had replaced his office chair.

"Come on," Ray said, spreading the salvage forms over Frazer's desk. Some had Ray's handwriting, and some had Carol's.

What had Trivia told him? A glamour unravels if you tug on it. The forms were not magical—he could see magic now, couldn't he?—but they were deceptive. He tilted his head and concentrated: His task had been merely to list the protected plant species in each location affected by the fires. The logging company's information was to be filled in later by the company, and the locations of the fires had already been filled in.

He surveyed the desk again. There. A manila envelope with no return address. It contained more salvage logging forms, blank but for the locations of fires. Ray closed his eyes and visualized the forests he loved so well.

A pair of possums slept in dense scrub. Palm fronds and tall grasses swallowed game trails whole. Banana spiders crossed glimmering webs on black and yellow-banded legs. Trees like needles knitted tapestries of branch and leaf and moss and vine, catching every square inch of sunlight. All was Green.

There had been no fires at the locations. Not yet.

"Son of a bitch." Ray chucked Frazer's eagle at the bookshelf. "They're instructions."

He tucked the envelope into his waistband and dialed a number on Frazer's phone directory.

Byron's truck's horn sounded.

Ray glanced at the door but stayed put. The phone line clicked.

"Bureau of Fire and Arson Investigations, please hold," said the woman on the other end of the line.

"Don't hold," Ray said. "This is an emergency!"

"I'll transfer you to 911," she said.

"Just listen," Ray said. "I'm about to be dead or in prison. Whatever happens, you have to stop Deputy Chief Jim Frazer from burning down the timberlands. Did you get that? Jim. Frazer. Look for the salvage forms! I'll hide them somewhere he won't expect."

The line clicked.

"Hello?" Ray said.

"Tallahassee," a man said in a bored voice.

Ray sighed. "I'm at the Jacksonville field unit, do you have anyone closer—"

"Someone will be with you shortly, Mr. Lumley."

"Ok, just hurry ." Ray reached for Frazer's window, but stopped short of touching it. A pile of dead ants and flies lay on the windowsill. It was warded. "Wait, how did you—?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Lumley," Tallahassee said. "You won't be going to prison."