"We're comin'!" Franklin cut him off. Already running for the door one step behind Connolly, he was stunned that even demons would try such a thing in broad daylight.

Bridget O'Reilly was last to arrive, delayed by "issues" at school, she claimed. But it was to Joby Peterson that she apologized for being late, Donaldson noticed, though this was Donaldson's conference room, and, officially, his meeting. In reality, of course, this whole powwow had been Peterson's doing, as was the guest list, kindly forwarded to Donaldson ahead of time with brief explanations of local position and importance beside each name, just to help him understand how deep a pile he'd stepped in, no doubt. Why was it always the littlest things that bit you? A touch of routine security clearing on virtually undeveloped public land. Who'd've thunk?

"If we're all here then," Donaldson said, "I'd like to start by thanking you for making time to come down here and help us all understand each other better."

"I'm not goin' to mince words with you, young man," said Franklin Holt-owner of the hardware and grocery stores- old Taubolt businesses, Donaldson recalled from Peterson's helpful little list. "I'm hopin' you're gonna understand us better. That's what this meetin's about. You were brought to Taubolt a month or two ago by people who've only been here for a couple years. My family has lived in Taubolt for five generations, Mr. Donaldson-five generations-and those trees you started cuttin' down last week were old back when my great-great-great-grandfather got here. Can you understand how ill-mannered it was to chop into five generations of this community's life without so much as consultin' anyone who belongs here?"

Two minutes in, and Donaldson already felt like a ten-year-old bent across his daddy's knee with his pants yanked down. Personally, he'd have preferred just to apologize and get this all behind him, but, in a town this small, one careless apology could cost him all appearance of authority-especially with Taubolt's cocky kids. He'd be finished here then. "Believe me, Mr. Holt," Donaldson said, trying to look charmingly disarmed instead of just red-faced, "no one regrets that misunderstanding more than I do. Though it pains me to say so now, that ring of trees looked like nothing but a tangled clump of wild old cypress to me then. Had that been private land, I would, of course, have consulted with the owner first. Unfortunately, those trees are on undesignated county property, so the county's who I went to."

"But, who told you that law enforcement was about landscaping to begin with?" asked Alice Mayfield. "I understand you were intending to mow and limb the entire headlands. We like it 'wild,' as you put it, Mr. Donaldson, as do the tourists on which this town's economy depends. Taubolt's wild beauty is part of what they come to see."

"Ma'am," Donaldson said patiently, "I appreciate that point, but my job here is to create a safe and secure environment for this town's residents and those same tourists. Apprehension of wrongdoers becomes extremely difficult, especially working without backup here, when they can just run a block in any direction and hide in the long grass and dense thickets currently surrounding this site. I thought it wiser to deprive Taubolt's criminals of that advantage. In addition, I'm sorry to say, such ready concealment also serves to induce your kids to all kinds of illegal behavior."

"Such as?" scowled Alex Carlson, Nacho's father.

"Much as you may not want to hear it," Donaldson said, "those thickets provide perfect hideouts for kids who want to sit around smokin' dope." He shrugged. "Prune the limbs to five or six feet above the ground, cut some of that grass, their concealment's gone, and lots of people might consider the landscape beautified."

"Ain't you been payin' attention?" Franklin growled. "We don't want our landscape beautified! Like Alice said, it's plenty beautiful already-for better or worse."

So much for risking reasonable suggestions, Donaldson thought wearily.

"First of all, Officer Donaldson," said Bridget O'Reilly, "the idea that anybody's smoking dope in that ring of trees is ridiculous. I would certainly know if anything like that were happening a hundred yards behind my school."

Donaldson suppressed a smirk at such naivete.

"And second," O'Reilly said, "I'm disturbed by the implication, both here and in your conduct elsewhere, that our kids are the 'criminals' you were sent here to suppress. I'm told you've been harassing skateboarders on my school grounds, where I've welcomed them to skate, and even said things to undermine my authority at school."

"Pardon me, ma'am," Donaldson said, agitated, if unsurprised, that such dirtbags had been lying about him, "but, while I did ask one very rowdy group of boys there to disperse, I don't recall saying anything at all about you."

"You didn't tell them that my permission was beside the point?" she pressed.

The littlest damn things, he thought, recalling his remark with cross chagrin. "They've taken that statement completely out of context," Donaldson said. "In fact, I encouraged them to show you more respect by insisting they call you Mrs. O'Reilly instead of Bridget, as if you were just another of their buddies."

"Students here are encouraged to address all their teachers by first names, Mr. Donaldson," she replied coolly, "just as we address them. We practice mutual respect here. I've been teaching since before you were old enough to drive, and I've never encountered a single shred of evidence to suggest that being thought of as a friend by my students made me less respected, or less effective."

No wonder these kids are so completely out of control, thought Donaldson. "Well, I'll have to take your word for that, Mrs. O'Reilly," he said aloud. Then, in a flash of diplomatic inspiration, he grinned and added, "Though one look at you suggests that your assertion about our relative ages is pure exaggeration."

"Whatever you may think, Mr. Donaldson," she replied sternly, "flattery gets my students nowhere either."

Mayday, mayday. Am surrounded and outnumbered, thought Donaldson. Urgently requesting backup.

"It seems to me we're ganging up on you a little, Officer Donaldson," said Peterson, as if reading his mind, "and I assure you, that's not what we came here to do." He directed a solicitous glance at his compatriots before continuing. "I have no doubt that you're doing a very difficult job as conscientiously as possible, and we just want the same things you do, I think. A safe, secure community where people get along the way we did all the time here just a few short years ago."

The puppet master speaks, Donaldson thought. Having let the "bad cops" do their work, Peterson was weighing in now as the peacemaker. He was good, Donaldson had to admit. Better than Hamilton, who employed her troops with all the subtlety of a fire-crazed cow, but did Peterson really think this game was going to fool a trained officer?

"I think we're all on the same page about the headlands now," Peterson went blithely on. "The more important issue, for me, is this business with Nacho and GB."

"Out of my hands," Donaldson quickly insisted, seeing where this was going now. "Those boys instigated a full-on brawl, Mr. Peterson."

"Trying to prevent irreparable harm to a local landmark," Nacho's father interjected, "which, I think we all agree now, was being damaged in error to start with."

"Your boy and his friend broke the nose of a county employee, Mr. Carlson, and destroyed county property, namely two valuable chain saws. I had no choice but to arrest them. It's a court matter now. You'll have to take it up there."

"Perhaps you're right," Peterson said. "But what confuses us is your decision to recommend lengthy jail time, and to have them hold GB without bail before his trial. This seems neither proportionate, nor constructive."

"Assault is a very serious crime, Mr. Peterson," said Donaldson, irritated to be told his business by a schoolteacher-especially one from such an undisciplined school.

"Whose assault?" snapped Franklin. "Good Lord, you are quick to forget your own errors, aren't you! Why can't you be so forgiving with others?" When Peterson shot the man a pleading look, Franklin drew a deep breath, and said more quietly, "This is a damn good boy we're talkin' about. A bit puckish, yes, but I've known Nacho all his life, and if he's got any business in jail, I'll eat three copies of your whole report on this matter."

Donaldson smiled despite himself. The man clearly had no idea how much paper was actually involved. "As for having the other boy held," he continued, overlooking Franklin's tempting bet, "he's an obvious flight risk, and frankly, I'm unclear why we're discussing him at all. A drifter here for less than two weeks? What's he to any of you?"

"Nacho introduced GB to several of us," said Tom Connolly, who'd been silent until now. "He seems to be a good kid who's just had a very rough time. His folks are dead. He didn't come here to make trouble. He was looking for a job and an apartment to rent as soon as he had an income."

"I've had the chance to get to know him too," said Peterson. "He came to me, hoping to get back into school. The juvenile justice code is full of talk about 'the best interests of the child,' and rehabilitation, I believe. Does throwing GB into jail just as he's seeking education and a job in a community that wants him seem like the best way to pursue that? However misguided their actions may have been, they were seeking to protect their community, not stealing a car or robbing a liquor store."

Geez! thought Donaldson. That kid had sure worked them good! These gullible bleeding hearts wouldn't last ten seconds in the real world.

"All we wish to suggest," Peterson pleaded, "is that, while little seems likely to be accomplished by throwing two wool-headed kids into prison for six months, where they'll likely learn to be real criminals, a great deal might be accomplished to improve this community's relationship with you, and their cooperation with the law you represent, if we could find some more constructive punishment that you felt as comfortable recommending to the court."

"You ever think of becoming a lawyer, Mr. Peterson?" Donaldson smiled, careful to make it sound like a compliment.

"I find teaching adventurous enough." Peterson smiled back.

"Well, I appreciate what you're saying," said Donaldson, "but I've already told you, this is a court matter now, and it's the judge you should be saying all this to. I'd like to help you, but at this point I'm nearly as far out of the loop as anyone else."

Unfortunately, once Peterson bit into something, it seemed he held on like a dead python, and somehow, half an hour later, Donaldson had agreed to change his recommendation of jail time to probation and eighty hours of community service for each of the boys, repairing damage done by skateboards around town, public apologies, and a bit of free expert computer service to the school tacked on for Nacho. Just terrific, Donaldson thought, smiling daggers at Peterson's departing back. There went the one thing he'd done since coming to Taubolt that had truly satisfied Hamilton.

As he sat correcting papers, a knock brought Joby's eyes up to find GB standing shyly in the entrance to his classroom.

"GB!" Joby said, getting up to greet him. "Welcome back."

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson." GB smiled uncertainly.

"It's Joby." Joby grinned. "Mr. Peterson's my father, remember?"

"Yeah, okay." GB smiled as they shook hands. "It's just still weird, callin' teachers by their first names." He ducked his head. "You know."

"Yeah, I know," said Joby. "It all seemed weird to me when I first got here too. In fact," he said, nostalgically, "it was about this same time of year. You're going to like Christmas here, GB."

"I wanted to come thank you," GB said quietly, "for helping me so much. The Carlsons told me everything you did while we were driving back. And getting me that job. You don't know what it means. I thought for sure they'd just kick me out of town."

"You belong here," said Joby. "We weren't about to let that happen. Have you been over to see Muriel yet at the Heron's Bowl?"

"Yeah." GB smiled. "She'll be fun to work for."

"Just watch out for her sense of humor," Joby said. "Her son's a friend of mine, and believe me, a tendency for sadistic pranks runs in their family."

"I didn't meet him," said GB.

"No," Joby said, feeling the smile leave his face. "He and some friends ran into demons in November. Two of them were killed." The waves of grief were always smaller now, but still managed to surprise him. "Cob was sent away for his own protection."

"Sent where?" GB asked. "Where is there for us besides here?"

Joby hesitated. The Garden Coast's existence was under tighter wraps than ever. With Ferristaff no longer around to draw attention to it, everyone just hoped the demons would have no reason to probe so far north. Still, GB had been vetted by several members of the council. The address in Seattle GB had given them checked out: gutted by fire two years earlier, a couple dead, their son still missing. Joby saw no reason not to answer GB's question. He was one of them now.

"He's in a place called the Garden Coast, well north of here," said Joby. "GB, what I'm telling you is one of our most closely guarded secrets. It's vital that no demon ever have reason to suspect it's there. You mustn't speak of it to anyone unless they bring it up. Okay?"

"Sure," GB said. "You get good at keeping secrets on the street. Does Nacho know about it?"

"We all do," Joby said. "Everyone who's of the blood, I mean. That's why I'm telling you. In fact, quite a few of us are up there now working to hide it more thoroughly, and preparing for the worst if it's found. You may end up helping them yourself, once you've settled in here."

"Have you been there?" GB asked.

"Just once," said Joby. "It was quite beautiful, but I'd be of no use up there now."

"Why not?" GB said, giving Joby another shy smile. "You seem pretty helpful."

"What they're doing takes all kinds of power I don't have," Joby said wistfully.

"That's not what I heard," said GB. "If you're of the blood, you've got powers."

"Well, yes, I have been told that," Joby sighed. "But if so, mine are hidden way too well to find. Since all the trouble started I've tried, a couple times, to do things, or even just to sense this power everybody says I have. But nothing happens. I've talked to Solomon about it, and-"

"He's one of the ancients, right?" asked GB, his eyes suddenly alight.

"Yes," Joby said. "I forgot you hadn't met him yet. He and Jake are both stretched pretty thin, as you can imagine."

"So, Solomon said you don't have powers?" GB said skeptically.

"Not exactly," Joby said. "Just that it's much harder for someone who wasn't raised to use them early. He says it's like being French. Either you're born and raised that way, or you're toast."

"Yeah, but . . . maybe I shouldn't be questioning an ancient," GB said hesitantly, "but I'm not sure that's right."

"Well, the proof is in the pudding." Joby shrugged. "Like I said, I've tried."

"You didn't try with me," GB said. "I think . . . I could help you do it."

Having resigned himself once to being a magical retard, Joby wasn't eager to jump through still more pointless hoops. "That's very kind of you, GB," he said, "but-"

"You gotta let me try, at least," said GB. "You've done all this stuff for me. I really wanna do this for you. Okay?"

"Well, what did you have in mind?" Joby said, seeing no way around it without completely rebuffing GB's generosity. Might as well fail one more time and have it done.

"Okay," GB said, heading for a table at the back of Joby's room. "Let's sit here."

"We're going to do it now?" Joby asked. "Here?"

"Good as anyplace." GB shrugged. "We'll be able to see if anyone comes in."

"What exactly are we going to do?" Joby asked, sitting down beside him.

"First, we have to find it," GB said. "Sounds like you lost it pretty early. But it's gotta still be in there, and once you remember what it felt like, the rest'll be like swimming." He smiled. "Once you've done it, you can do it."

"Uh-huh," Joby said, certain that GB was in for a disappointment. "And if there's no magic in there to remember?"

"It's there," GB said firmly. "Nacho says you use it all the time without knowing, so we prob'ly don't even have to look that far back." He turned to Joby, seeming suddenly uncomfortable again. "But, here's the deal. You gotta promise not to tell anyone how we did this, okay?" His expression became grave. "I mean seriously promise."

"Why?" Joby said uncomfortably. "What are you going to do?"

GB said nothing for a moment, then, "If I tell you, will you promise not to even tell the Council what I said?"

"That depends on what it is, GB. To be honest, it's sounding like whatever you've got in mind is nothing we should be doing anyway."

"It's nothing bad," GB insisted earnestly. "It's just that . . . when people find out what I can do, they get all tweaked sometimes. So . . . so I just don't let them know I can."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Joby pressed.

GB sighed, seeming braced for trouble. "I can sort of get in people's heads and . . . look around for things."

"You read minds?" Joby said. Then, less comfortably, "Are you doing it now?"

"No!" GB said hotly. "That's what I'm talkin' about! The minute people find out, they get all paranoid. But it doesn't just happen. I have to work at it, and I never do it without permission. Anyone who uses the power at all would feel me in there in a second anyway, but people still treat me like some kind of peepin' Tom." He frowned. "So now I've told you. You can trust me or not. It's your call." His sullen expression made his expectation clear. "If you tell, I'll just go find some other town to live in."

Joby wondered uncomfortably whether other people around Taubolt had been reading his mind. "You can't be the only one who has this gift," he said.

"Most of us can send things into other people's minds," GB said, "but being able to pull things out, that's rare." He shrugged unhappily. "Lucky me."

"Is it . . . unpleasant?" Joby asked.

"It doesn't hurt, if that's what you mean," said GB. "Might feel a little strange, is all." He looked hopefully at Joby. "You're gonna let me?"

"I might," Joby said, still trying to decide.

"And you won't tell anyone?" GB asked.

"No," Joby said. "I won't betray your trust. But I'm counting on you not to betray mine either by doing anything I'll be sorry for later."

"I won't," GB enthused. "Honest! Okay. First, lay your hands out flat on the table, and I'll put mine on top of yours." When they'd done so, GB said, "Now close your eyes and get relaxed. Think about fallin' asleep or some-thing . . . on a warm day. . . . Let your body just slow down, your breathing, your blood . . . everything gettin' slower."

They were silent as Joby let himself relax, noting that GB's hands were very warm, and getting warmer.

"Okay," GB said. "I'm gonna start lookin'. It feels different for different people. It could feel like gettin' dizzy, or like your ears are ringin', or even like you're forgettin' things. But I won't do anything to hurt you, and I'll get out the minute you ask, okay?"

Joby nodded, tensing up a bit despite himself.

"Okay," GB said, "now, when I find what we're lookin' for, you'll sort of see it-like a daydream. Latch on to that and concentrate until the dream gets stronger. Ready?"

Joby took a deep breath and nodded again, then felt it, right away, like a waterfall of inaudible voices in his mind. "Wow," he whispered.