"It's okay," GB said behind him, then added hesitantly. "If you want to."

"You played horse?" Nacho asked.

GB nodded modestly. "I mean, you'll win, but it'd be fun."

"Nacho's gonna grind him flat," someone whispered theatrically.

It was a tough call. If Nacho refused, it would be like snubbing the guy, but if he said yes, and beat him, these bloodthirsty little board babies might laugh the boy back into the trees. Before Nacho had decided what to do, GB jumped on his board, got some speed up on the walkway, and ollied off the stairs into the courtyard, executing a flawless 360 flip, his feet grabbing the board again before landing, as if they were welded to it.

That resolved the issue. This guy was good enough to look out for himself. In fact, Nacho wondered if he was being sharked by Mr. Modest, here. If so, Mr. Modest was in for a surprise. Grinning, he stepped on his board and matched GB's jump without much effort. Then, coming back up the stairs, Nacho kicked out into the street and ollied up into a long crooked grind along the curb, came off fakie, then popped into a half-cab flip. Boards banged on the pavement behind him, but GB duplicated the trick with apparent ease. GB's next gambit was a front-side half-cab heel flip. There were grunts of surprise and admiration from the others. No doubt about it, Nacho thought, he'd been sharked. This guy was way too good. Nacho got up some speed, and headed into the trick, but as his body came around, the board brushed his foot before completing its rotation, and he barely made the landing. In the courtyard behind them, there was a sudden quiet. This wasn't funny anymore. Third turn, and neither of them even had an "H" yet. Nacho decided it was time to cut things short.

"You're damn good," Nacho said to GB, "so let's ditch the kiddie stuff."

He started kicking fast back down the walkway toward the stairs, did a quick front-side flip, then ollied up huge into a backside grind down the handrail to the courtyard, but his weight was too far back. As he began to fall, the other skills that were his birthright leapt up instinctively, stalling his board just enough to make the landing possible. He hadn't meant to cheat. His use of power had been a reflex. But half the kids here were of the blood, and their silence made it clear that they all knew what he had done. Flushed with embarrassment, he turned to GB, searching for some excuse to save his honor with the others by conceding the game without exposing his real reasons to GB and all the other ognib townies here.

Still struggling after some solution, Nacho saw GB looking at him strangely, half a smile playing on his lips before he pushed off down the walk, did the front-side flip, and ollied up onto the railing, just as Nacho had. But at the end of GB's grind, he popped into a truly impossible kick flip and nailed the landing in the courtyard below.

The silence now was absolute. Every boy there was astonished, but Nacho knew that any who were of the blood had sensed GB's use of power. GB picked up his board, turned to face Nacho with a look of tense defiance. "Fair is fair," he said quietly.

Nacho's mouth dropped open, a flood of questions scrambling up his throat, none of which could be asked until he got this kid into some less public setting.

Before he could think how, Barnard hissed, "Hey, watch it! Donaldson!"

Everyone turned to see the town's new scourge of skaters park his patrol car across the street, climb out, and swagger toward them.

"It's getting pretty close to dinnertime," the young officer said. "Shouldn't you boys be headed home?"

Everyone looked sullenly away or at the ground.

"Bridget says that we can skate here," Nacho answered levelly.

"If you mean, Mrs. O'Reilly," Donaldson countered, "she may be head teacher here, but this is not her property, so her permission's kind of beside the point."

"Who called you then?" asked Barnard, who'd already been ticketed in town for being a "public nuisance," which is what they called skating these days.

"That's none of your concern." Donaldson frowned. "You're disturbing lots of neighbors in the area, and they're worried that one of you is going to break a leg here any moment. The school board's not too eager to get sued. I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

"Where are we supposed to skate then?" Nacho asked, uncowed.

"Your name Nacho?" Donaldson asked with obvious irritation.

Nacho fell silent, alarmed that Donaldson knew his name. He'd been careful to keep a low profile since the officer's arrival.

"Yeah, I thought so," Donaldson said. "Karl Foster told me all about you."

"Foster doesn't know all about me," Nacho replied.

"There's people here in town who are mighty curious about his mysterious departure a couple weeks ago," Donaldson said menacingly. "You know anything about why he might have left?"

"Got no idea," Nacho said. "Just glad he's gone."

"Well, I know you've been out of school for several years now, boy," said Donaldson, "and according to the law, no one's got a right to be on school grounds who isn't faculty or student body." He surveyed the group. "Looks like that may apply to several of you. Now, I'm not here to debate with you boys. You can all leave right now, or I'll start writing tickets for the usual violations. It's your call."

Beyond a tatter of grumbling, all resistance vanished. Everyone began to leave, but as Nacho turned to go, Donaldson said, "Not you. I'll have that board, please."

Nacho turned back to gape at him. "Why? I'm leavin'!"

"Not fast enough," Donaldson replied, holding out his hand. "Maybe you'll think twice before you question my authority again."

"Wait a minute," Nacho protested, "I-"

"Boy, you can hand me that board, or I can arrest you right now, and show you the real meaning of trouble," Donaldson growled. "What's it gonna be?"

It was Nacho's best board. He'd made it all by hand, every inch with loving care. No way he was going to hand it over to this latest tool of Hamilton's. He turned and bolted toward the headlands beyond the school, tossing back a little flow of air, just enough to wrap Donaldson's feet and make him trip. Hearing the man scuff the ground and cuss behind him, Nacho smiled, and poured on a bit more speed than was strictly natural. As he reached the fields, he realized that GB was running right beside him.

"You're of the blood?" Nacho panted warily as they ran. Strangers were not to be trusted these days; strangers with power least of all.

"I heard there were others," GB replied, his voice unsteady with something more than just exertion. "Somewhere down here." Nacho glanced over at him, realizing with a jolt that the boy was trying not to cry. "I've been lookin' for a long, long time," GB said.

"How'd you know what you were lookin' for?" Nacho asked, far from reassured.

"My parents told me," GB answered. "Just before the demons killed them."

"What?" Nacho exclaimed, breaking stride to stare at GB.

"He's coming!" GB said, looking back at Donaldson, who was gaining ground behind them. "Come on," he said desperately, urging Nacho to follow as he picked up speed again. "I can't get arrested. They'll throw me out of town, and I've worked too hard to find you guys! Where we gonna hide out here?"

"Can you blink out?" Nacho asked as they sprinted toward the Sacred Circle downhill from the burned-out chapel.

"You mean disappear?" GB said. "He'll see us! Don't you care about that here?"

"Course we do," said Nacho. "Do it when we reach those trees. He's far enough behind. When he gets in there he'll just think we took off out the other side."

As they ran inside the ring of cypress trees, they did as Nacho had suggested, remaining still and silent as Donaldson barged in himself a moment later, stopping to glance first one direction, then the other before walking to the circle's center, where he stood breathing hard and looking cross, turning a full 360 degrees in clear confusion.

To Nacho's surprise, he didn't even check if they'd run out the other side, only shook his head and left to trot back across the field toward his patrol car by the school.

"Okay, so tell me that again about your parents?" Nacho said, turning toward GB as they both reappeared.

"They're dead." GB shrugged sadly. "There was a couple of us living up there in Seattle. Not just my family." He shrugged again. "One of us got careless, I guess. I still don't know which one. But the demons found us all." He fell silent, his eyes gone empty with some dreadful memory he clearly wasn't going to describe. "One night," he said bleakly. "That's all it took."

Nacho nodded grimly, thinking of Jupiter and Sky, and of Alfred and Crombie on the night all their lives had changed.

"My father woke me up and said we had to run. Practically threw me out the window. Find the others. That was all he said." GB's eyes began to redden as Nacho watched him try to jam his feelings back. "I thought he meant the other families in our group. When he shoved me out the back, I thought he and my mom would be coming right behind me. But I went to all the other houses, and the demons had already been there. One was burning. The other one was full of . . ." He fell silent again. "I hung around for weeks. Went to all the places I could think of where my parents might have tried to meet me, but they never came. No one did."

He looked up at Nacho, his expression haunted. "I hooked up with other kids livin' on the streets up there then. My gifts made it easy for me to steal things, and deal with people, so I was popular. I was careful no one ever figured out how I was doing things, but one day someone started to suspect, so I left before they started talkin' and the demons found me too. I just wandered south for months. Then I started hearin' rumors about some town in California. I heard some guy sayin' in a bus station how he'd been vacationing there when they'd had a bunch of fires, and he'd seen naked people falling from the air. Everybody laughed at him, but I remembered what my father said the night he made me leave. Find the others." GB's satisfaction seemed almost fierce as he stared at Nacho. "How many of us are there here?"

"Lots," said Nacho, amazed at GB's courage. "But I've got some bad news for you too. You've kind of jumped out of the frying pan into the fire here. Taubolt's new name is Demons 'R' Us. They invaded just about a month ago. We've got a couple ancients here who are strong enough to force the fucks to incarnate here in town, but you've picked a bad time to visit, I'm afraid."

"What's an ancient?" GB asked, seeming only excited.

Nacho shook his head, supposing that next to hiding all alone out in the world, eating out of garbage cans, Taubolt must still look like paradise to him. "There's a lot you prob'ly oughtta know," he said. "And if you check out with certain people, I'll be glad to fill you in. No offense, but we gotta be careful now. I'm sure you understand."

"Sure," said GB. "No one gets that better than me."

"Where're you headed now?" Nacho asked.

"Nowhere," GB said.

Knowing this was probably the literal truth, Nacho felt another stab of sympathy, and said, "Let's go get your grillin' taken care of then. After that I'm goin' home to fix some dinner. You can come over if you want."

"You sure?" GB asked, but the look of gratitude on his face spoke volumes.

"Come on," Nacho said, managing a grin. "It'll be a lot more fun to bitch about that asshole Donaldson with company. Guess we better blink again, though." Donning robes of twisted air, they started out to cross the fields, seeming nothing more to anyone who might be watching than a slow breeze through the long grass.

"So," Nacho asked, "what does 'GB' stand for anyway?"

"Nothin'," GB muttered.

"Come on, what?" Nacho pressed.

"It's stupid."

"I'm not gonna laugh."

GB looked away and mumbled something too quickly and quietly to make out.

"What?" Nacho said, too intrigued to let it go now.

"I said, 'Golden Boy.' " GB sighed, looking mortified.

"Your name's Golden Boy?" Nacho blurted out despite himself. "Your real name?"

"My parents were . . . kind of strange sometimes." GB gave him a look full of earnest appeal. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that to yourself. I . . . I go by GB, and-"

"Hey," Nacho interrupted, "your secret's safe with me. Geez. Golden Boy. That sure sucks."

"You're telling me," GB said as they headed toward the street.

30.

( Golden Boy ) Dear Sheriff Mansfield, While I remain grateful to you for sending us Officer Donaldson, I am writing once again to plead for further action. As our county sheriff, I know you share my escalating alarm at the continuing increase in serious crime that threatens this entire rural county's economy by eroding Taubolt's viability as a premier resort destination.

Since summer alone, Taubolt has endured five murders, numerous arson fires, several extremely suspicious disappearances, uncountable acts of vandalism and petty theft, and now, the torching of three more cars belonging to trusting visitors. I might also add that there is increasing anecdotal evidence of escalating drug use among Taubolt's teenagers. While Officer Donaldson performs his tasks with exemplary diligence, no one man can hope to address such an overwhelming challenge alone.

Locally, one hears increasing curiosity expressed as to why this crime spree has been greeted with such apparent indifference by our county's top officials. I am sure that assignment of more appropriate resources to this urgent crisis would go far to rouse the kind of respect and gratitude a man looking forward to reelection would value. Come next year's election campaign, I will happily throw the full weight of my resources behind any man who can demonstrate a credible willingness and ability to restore the peace and security that this charming town took for granted not so long ago.

Appreciatively,

Agnes Hamilton

Franklin stood behind the counter of his hardware store, absently cleaning a case of glass lamp chimneys with an old rag, while watching Taubolt's new policeman stand across the street in the blowing drizzle, writing up some kid who'd dared to skateboard past a few of Shea Street's shops in daylight-not that there were any customers to scare off in such weather. It had blown sheets of rain for three days straight now.

Seemed an awful waste of law enforcement to spend so much time writing kids tickets and taking their toys away, though, in sad truth, this was probably the only so-called crime in Taubolt even twenty Donaldsons stood any chance of tackling. Wasn't much use calling in police to deal with demon mischief.

He shook his head, wondering how much longer he could stick around here watching Taubolt go to seed. Their once pleasant village was nothing now but a brawl of kiddie crime fighting, yuppie refugees, "infrastructure issues," rising violence, dying children, and incarnate demons virtually undetectable (until they vandalized your business or firebombed your car), among the horde of clueless tourists still expecting to be pampered in an active war zone. Franklin would have gone already except that everything he'd ever had or cared about was here, and there was nowhere it made any sense to go. Not until the Cup was found. If it ever was.

"Hey, Franklin. How are you doing?" Tom Connolly waved halfheartedly as he entered the store, accompanied by gusts of damp air and the sounds of power saws and pounding hammers from farther up the street. Molly Redstone's abandoned shop was being repaired and renovated as the new police substation. Redstone had left suddenly the month before, claiming the devas had directed her to some new "mission" in Colorado.

"What ya need, Tom?" Franklin replied, setting down his glassware.

"A few of those big yellow notepads," Tom said, coming to the counter, "and some manila envelopes." He looked out at the street with a sour smile. "I see he's at it again. Ever vigilant."

Franklin nodded. "Neither rain nor snow nor dark of night can close that man's ticket book. I feel safer every day."

"Hamilton doesn't seem to," Tom said, heading back to the stationery aisle for his things. "You read her latest letter in The Lighthouse?"

"I did," Franklin replied, going back to wiping down his chimneys. "Sounds like she expected 'em to station the whole platoon out here, don't it?"

"Sounds like," Tom agreed. "Seems to me she ought to be happy, though. He hasn't wasted any time zeroing in on the worst threats to local safety, has he?"

"No, sir," Franklin said dryly. "Don't know how we ever got by without 'im."

Suddenly, across the street, Donaldson ran to lean in through the open window of his car, then jumped in and sped off with lights blazing, as the kid he'd been accosting watched in openmouthed surprise.

"Looks like something big's gone down," said Connolly, drawn back to watch with Franklin.

"Hamilton's probl'y caught some of those damn delinquents lookin' at dirty pictures." Franklin smiled humorlessly.

Suddenly, the door flew open, banging loudly on the stop as Blue leaned through it in a breathless panic. "They're cutting down the Sacred Circle!" he shouted.

"WHAT?!!" both men exclaimed in unison.

"They're chainsawing the trees!" Blue wailed. "Nacho's tryin' to stop 'em! And that new kid, GB! Everybody's runnin' down there telling 'em to stop, but-"