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wrists and legs where Molochai and Twig had held him down； they were more corporeal than the twins on the hill。
Well； he was doing a great job of not thinking about them。 He was glad toward early evening when Steve stuck his head in and said； 〃Let's head on over and do the sound check。 We can grab a couple of beers before the show。〃
Ghost got dressed fast； pulling on a pair of jeans torn out at the knees； a baggy T…shirt and sweater； his army jacket； his hat with the colored streamers。 When he went out； Steve was standing by the front door rattling the knob； jiggling his guitar case； glancing toward the window every few seconds。 Ghost decided not to talk about the visitors。 Not yet。 Steve would bring it up if he wanted to。
Ghost was relieved to get into the T…bird and sit back； watching the cold empty roads slip by； letting Steve vent his frustration on the steering wheel； the gas pedal； the radio whose knob he twisted as if wreaking vengeance on the music。 The roads were nearly empty tonight。 Ghost saw a rusty blue pickup； its bed pried high with pumpkins that mirrored the pale orange light of the moon。 He saw a Greyhound bus going north。 The air inside the T…bird was heavy with Steve's restlessness。 Ghost knew Steve would get very drunk tonight。
Well； what the hell。 So would he。 Maybe。
But after the music was over。
At the Sacred Yew； they did their sound check。 Ghost sat on the edge of the stage； swinging his legs； listening to Steve curse the club's shitty PA； occasionally singing a few lines into the microphone。 When the check was over； Steve headed for the bar； a separate room at the back of the club。 Ghost followed； trailing his fingers along the hand…painted； crayoned； and Magic Markered mural on the wall。 He had drawn part of the mural himself。 Anyone who wanted to add to it could…Kinsey kept pens and finger paints behind the bar。
Ghost knew every corner of the Yew； every one of the fancy antique…gold ceiling tiles Kinsey had put in； every graffiti in the restrooms。 When you played at a club forty weeks out of a year； it got to be home。
As soon as Ghost came into the bar； Steve handed him a can of Budweiser。 Kinsey Hummingbird was serving at the bar； smiling his awkwardly amiable smile； already setting up a second beer for Steve。 Steve finished his first one and started on the next。
Ghost sipped his beer…he didn't need it； not tonight； he would drink music…and watched the kids e in。 Soon the club was full of them。 College students from Raleigh； and dropouts like Steve and Ghost。 High school students from Windy Hill； the hippie Quaker place； but hardly any from the county school； they were all metalheads over there。 Younger kids too…junior high kids smoking Marlboros and Camels； kids trying to look jaded and managing only to look bored。 Kids with wide…open innocent faces and easy smiles； kids with long dark hair and eyeliner； kids with razor scars on their wrists； kids already sick of life； kids happy to be alive and drunk and younger than they would ever feel again。
They were so very young。 Ghost thought as he stood among them； feeling their pain and their exuberance； their stupidity and terror and beauty brush his mind。 They were so young； and they wore their thrift…shop jewelry； their ragged jeans； their black clothes like badges of membership to some arcane club。 Some club that required drunkenness…on cheap liquor； on rainy midnights； on poetry or sex。 Some club that required love of obscure bands and learning to lie awake at 4：00 A。M。； bursting with terrors and wide…awake dreams。
None of these kids was Nothing。 Ghost looked for the long silk coat； the lank black hair； the three lurking figures that would surround the boy。 But he was not here； though many of these kids looked like him…the same big； black…rimmed； blasted eyes； the same pale flickering hands。 Ghost hoped Nothing wouldn't e。 Not with those three。 But he knew they would be there。
Something in him ached for that boy。 For the sadness in his face； for his eyes yearning to stay young。 He wanted to grab Nothing away from his panions and tell him that sometimes everything could be all right； that pain did not have to e with magic； that childhood never had to end。 And yet he wondered whether Nothing had not known all those things when he made his choice。 Whatever that was。
The right choice was not always clear。 Nevertheless； Nothing had had to make one。 Ghost had felt him do it； right there in the bedroom as he woke up； and he had felt the boy grow a little older。 He felt his mind straining at something it could not quite grasp； and the feeling was odd； there wasn't much Ghost could not empathize with。 He reminded himself that he had not really tried； had not wanted to try。
Then Steve grabbed Ghost's arm and dragged him through the crowd toward the stage。 It was time to play。 Ghost felt the small shiver of something like stage fright and something like wild intoxication； when the room swims； when you can no longer stand up straight or trust your eyes。
Hands plucked at Ghost's clothes； at the streamers on his hat。 He was greeted by a multitude of young voices。 He felt the brush of their fingers and their minds； he breathed their cigarette smoke。 Then they were stumbling onstage； Steve and Ghost； Lost Souls？ e back again。
Steve clawed at his guitar； letting loose the night's first jangling scream。 Ghost glanced at the set list taped to the floor； scrawled in Steve's illegible handwriting； and the words of the first song rose to his lips。 He stepped up to the microphone and； gripping it with both hands； whispered those words： 〃Don't go on the beach 。 。 。 Realize the lions have e in 。 。 。〃
The audience swayed at the touch of his voice。 He looked into those upturned young faces bathed in dim stagelight； the fresh faces； the pale hollow…boned faces with their darkly lined eyes。
And there in the middle of the crowd was Nothing； not swaying but standing very still； his face tilted up with the rest； his eyes wide and shadowed。 His three friends were there too； clustered around him。 Zillah stared at the floor； his face in darkness。 One of the two bigger ones poked Nothing and shouted something into his ear； but Nothing only shook his head and kept staring at Ghost。
Then； as the first song ended； Zillah looked up at the stage。 Even from behind the lights； from fifteen feet away； Ghost could see that Zillah's face was perfect as a mask again。 His nose was straight； his lips full and lustrous。 There were no bruises。 There was no swelling。
Zillah caught him staring and smiled。
Smiled with a plete mouthful of sharpened； shining teeth。
Ghost faltered。 He forgot the words of the next song。 Steve was trying to give him the cue； but Ghost couldn't look at him； couldn't turn his head away from that perfect mouthful of teeth。 What was he dealing with here？ What the hell had decided to visit itself on Missing Mile？
The moment of silence stretched； became unbearable。 Now Steve was at the back of the stage fucking with the equipment； trying to cover for him。 They did a couple of songs that required a prerecorded bass and drum track； and Steve was turning knobs that didn't n