“How many do you think there are?” Gus said, trying to differentiate between dozens of dog sounds.

Shawn listened for a moment. And then for another moment. And another. “I don’t have to think,” he said finally. “I know exactly how many.”

At first, Gus thought Shawn was cracking under the strain of their impending, and very unpleasant, death. But he quickly realized that what he heard in Shawn’s voice was not a tremble of fear, but a poorly repressed chuckle.

“And that’s funny somehow?” Gus said.

“It is if you know the number,” Shawn said. “What did the invitation say again?”

“It said we needed to know the magic word, or we’d be eaten to death,” Gus said. “Or words to that effect.”

“I don’t care about the effect. I need to know the exact words.”

Gus called up the image of the small red type in front of his eyes. Even in this remembered state it was hard to read. “If you wish admittance to the Fortress, you must say the magic words, else all is forfeit.”

“Okay then, let’s say the magic words.”

“We don’t know them!”

“Don’t we?”

“No, Shawn, we don’t. That’s why we’re standing in the dark, surrounded by vicious hell hounds.”

Gus could almost hear Shawn’s smirk. “My friend, you are wrong on every count.”

“Then if you’re so smart, you go ahead and say the magic words.”

“I don’t think you want me to do that.”

“To save our lives? Say the words.”

“You’re going to be mad.”

“Because you figured it out first? I’ll live-if you say the words.”

“Fine, I will,” Shawn said. He took a long, dramatic pause, and then let his voice ring out over the hillside. “The magic words!”

Gus felt his heart sink in his chest. At least it would be harder for the dogs to get to it that way, he thought. He had actually allowed himself to hope that Shawn knew what he was doing, that they might get out of this alive. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to prepare himself for the first fangs to penetrate his flesh.