The Book of Joby (99 page)

“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.

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.