“Thank you,” Savich said. “Rob, Donny, she’s not going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear it to you.” Sherlock came to him, and she looked angry enough to spit nails. She didn’t say anything, just put her arms around the two boys.

The paramedics came through with stretchers. Big Bob, the lead, who had a twenty-two-inch neck, looked at the two agents comforting the boys and just held up his hand. He said to the three men behind him, “Let’s just wait here a moment. I think these boys are getting the medicine they need right now. See to that woman. The guy is gone.”

Three hours later, the old barn was finally empty again, all evidence, mainly food refuse, pizza boxes, some chains and shackles, a good four dozen candy bar wrappers, carted away. Both Tuttles had been removed, Tammy still alive. The boys were taken immediately to their parents, who were waiting at the sheriff’s office in Stewartville, Maryland. From there they’d go on to the local hospital to be checked out. The FBI wouldn’t need to speak to them again for at least a couple of days, giving them time to calm down before being questioned.

All the agents drove back to FBI headquarters, to the Criminal Apprehension Unit on the fifth floor, to write up their reports.

Everyone was bouncing off the walls. They’d won. High fives, slaps on the back. No screwups, no false leads. They hadn’t been too late to save the boys. “Just look at all the testosterone flying around,” Sherlock said as she walked into the office. Then she laughed. No one could talk about anything but how Savich had brought them down.

Savich called all the agents who had participated in the raid together.

“When the barn doors swung in, did anyone see anything?”

No one had seen a thing.

“Did anyone see anything strange coming out of the barn, anything at all?”

There wasn’t a word spoken around the big conference table. Then Sherlock said, “We didn’t see anything, Dillon. The barn doors flew inward; there was some thick dust in the air, but that was it.” She looked around at the other agents. No one had seen any more than that. “We didn’t see anything coming out of the barn either.”

“The Tuttles called them Ghouls,” Savich said slowly. “They looked so real I actually shot at one of them. It was then that they seemed to dissipate, to disappear. I’m being as objective as I can. Understand, I didn’t want to see anything out of the ordinary. But I did see something. I want to believe that it was some sort of dust devil that broke into two parts, but I don’t know, I just don’t know. If anyone can come up with an explanation, I’d like to hear it.”

There were more questions, more endless speculation, until everyone sat silent. Savich said to Jimmy Maitland, “The boys saw them. They’re telling everyone about them. You can bet that Rob and Donny won’t call them natural phenomena or dust devils.”

Jimmy Maitland said, “No one will believe them. Now, we’ve got to keep this Ghoul business under wraps. The FBI has enough problems without announcing that we’ve seen two supernatural cones, for God’s sake, in a rampaging partnership with two psychopaths.”

Later, Savich realized while he was typing his report to Jimmy Maitland that he’d spelled “Ghouls” with a capital G. They weren’t just general entities to the Tuttles; they were specific.

Sherlock followed Savich into the men’s room some thirty minutes later. Ollie Hamish, Savich’s second in command, was at the sink washing his hands when they came in.

“Oh, hi, guys. Congratulations again, Savich. Great work. I just wish I could have been with you.”

“I’m glad to see a man washing his hands,” Sherlock said, and poked him in the arm. “In a few minutes I’m going to be washing my hands, too. After I’ve beaten some sense into my husband here, the jerk. Go away, Ollie, I know you’ll want to protect him from me, and I don’t want to have to hurt both of you.”

“Ah, Sherlock, he’s a hero. Why do you want to hurt the hero? He saved those little boys from the Warlocks and the Ghouls.”

Savich said, “After what I told you about them, do you spell ‘Ghouls’ with a capital G in your head?”

“Yeah, sure, you said there were two of them. It’s one of those strange things that will stay with you. You sure you weren’t smoking something, Savich? Inhaling too much stale hay?”

“I wish I could say yes to that.”

“Out, Ollie.”

Once they were alone, she didn’t take a strip off him, just stepped against him and wrapped her arms around his back. “I can’t say that I’ve never been more frightened in my life, since you and I have managed to get into some bad situations.” She kissed his neck and squeezed him even tighter. “But today, at that damned barn, you were a hot dog, and I was scared spitless, as were your friends.”

“There was no time,” he said against her curly hair. “No time to bring you in. Jesus, I scared myself, but I had no choice. And then those howling wind things were there. I honestly can’t say which scared me more-Tammy Tuttle or whatever it was she called the Ghouls.”

She pulled back a bit. “I really don’t understand any of that. You described it all so clearly I could almost see them whirling through those barn doors. But Ghouls?”

“That’s what the Tuttles called them. It was like they were acolytes to these things. I’d really like to say it was some sort of hallucination, that I was the only one who freaked out, but the boys saw them, too. I know it sounds off the wall, Sherlock, particularly since none of you guys saw a thing.”

Because he needed to speak of it more, she just held him while he again described what had burst through the barn doors. Then he said, “I don’t think there’s anything more to do about this, but it was scary, Sherlock, really.”

Jimmy Maitland walked into the men’s room.

“Hey, where’s a man to piddle?”

“Oh, sir, I just wanted to check Dillon out, make sure he was okay.”

“And is he?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Ollie caught me in the hall on my way to the unit, Savich, said you were getting the bejesus whaled out of you in the men’s room. We’ve got a media frenzy cranking up.” Jimmy Maitland gave them a big grin. “Guess what? No one’s going to pound on us this time-only good news, thank the Lord. Great news. Since you were the one in the middle of it, Savich, we want you front and center. Of course, Louis Freeh will be there and do all the talking. They just want you to stand there and look like a hero.”

“No mention of what we saw?”

“No, not a word about the Ghouls, not even speculation about whirling dust. The last thing we need is to have the media go after us because we claim we were attacked by some weird balls of dust called into the barn by a couple of psychopaths. As for the boys, it doesn’t matter what they say. If the media asks us about it, we’ll just shake our heads, look distressed and sympathetic. It will be a twenty-four-hour wonder, then it’ll be over. And the FBI will be heroes. That sure feels good.”

Savich said as he rubbed his hands up and down his wife’s back, “But there was something very strange in there, sir, something that made the hair stand up on my head.”

“Get a grip, Savich. We’ve got the Tuttle brothers, or rather we’ve got one brother dead and one sister whose arm was just amputated at the shoulder. The last thing we need is a dose of the supernatural.”

“You could maybe call me Mulder?”

“Yeah, right. Hey, I just realized that Sherlock here has red hair, just like Scully.”

Savich and Sherlock rolled their eyes and followed their boss from the men’s room.

The boys claimed they’d seen the Ghouls, could speak of nothing else but how Agent Savich had put a bullet right in the middle of one and made them whirl out of the barn. But the boys were so tattered and pathetic, very nearly incoherent, that indeed, they weren’t believed, even by their parents.