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of wine。 At the Sacred Yew； Christian watched the bar clock and counted off the hours until closing time。
Night。
Chapter 22
（Scratch）
（Pop！）
A yellow…orange explosion in the dark。 Steve lit a fat joint that had been rolled from more of Terry's Popacatepetl Purple。 Sparks showered down； flared like tiny nighttime suns among the clamp pine needles； and died。
It was Halloween night； and they were sitting in the tiny Civil War graveyard in the woods behind their house。 Ghost liked to e out here to smoke； to be among the trees and lie on the thick carpet of pine needles。 He liked the gravestones that seemed to sprout like mushrooms from the forest floor； the weathered crosses of wood and granite； the white lambs and winged death's…heads so worn away that they might have been natural outcroppings。
When Steve sucked at the twisted cigarette； its light made his eyes into deep dark pools； threw his sharp nose and chin into spooky shadowed relief。 Ghost took the joint and dragged deeply。 The glow turned his hanging pale hair fiery； suffused his eyes。 He held his breath for a long time； sighed out a great plume of smoke； and leaned back against his favorite gravestone： that of Miles Hummingbird； 1846…1865。 Kinsey's great…great…great…uncle。 A private in the Confederate army； shot somewhere in the Virginia woods on a rainy day near the end of the war； trundled home to North Carolina and buried in the springtime mud。 Miles's gravestone was rough and gray and moldering； and Miles's bones fell softly away to dust below。 In the drifts of his body lay a shell with creamy pink insides； a shell he had carried home from his family's one trip to the shore when he was twelve； a shell his sister had laid in his hands； over his torn chest； a shell with dry tears inside a hundred and twenty years old。
Ghost put his cheek against the cool granite and thought； Is it cold in the shell tonight； Miles？； and Miles's rusty Carolina voice； so very far away； said； It's warm； Ghost。 It's warm and yellow as the sand； and the ocean is the color my sister eyes once were。
〃Blue…green？〃 said Ghost。 〃Like the calm ocean？ Or blue…gray； like before a storm？〃 He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until Steve glared at him。
〃Shit。 What a way to spend Halloween； in the graveyard listening to you talk to the spooks。 I ought to be over at R。J。's party with five or six brews already down and another one ready to go。 Not in the damn graveyard getting stoned。〃 Steve lay back in the pine needles with his hands behind his head and regarded the smeary glittering stars that were beginning to appear。 He looked as if he would like to snuff them out。
〃You don't need any beer；〃 Ghost told him。 〃You've been
drinking too much。 Weed clears out your brain。〃
〃You think Ann will be at that party？〃
〃Not if she thinks you will。〃
〃No； I guess not。 I guess she's still hanging around that trailer on Violin Road。 Out where those creeps moved in。〃 Steve was silent for a moment。 〃You know； they never let her in。 I drove past there one day and saw her in their yard。 Thought maybe her car had broken down； so I stopped and asked her if she wanted a ride into town； but she told me to get lost。 Said she was waiting for her true love。〃 He sucked at the joint。 〃I hope they tell her to fuck off。〃
Ghost lay down next to Steve。 〃What did you do？〃
〃I sprayed gravel。 Peeled out of there。 I figured if I hung around； I'd either kill her or that little green…eyed fucker。〃
Ghost heard Steve's knuckles cracking。 〃You don't want to mess with them；〃 he said。
〃'Yeah； I know what you told me。 His face was all healed up； and that means he must be Count Dracula or something。 I don't remember； Ghost I don't know。〃
'Trust me； then。〃
〃Guess I better。 What else have I got to trust？〃 There was no anger in Steve's voice now。 He only sounded sad； and very tired。 A man who wanted to stop thinking。
Ghost would have done anything to make Steve happier。 But what could he do？ Unbewitch Ann？ Tell Zillah and his crew to get out of town before sunrise？ He propped himself on his elbows and shook a few pine needles out of his hair。 The sweet orange smell of singeing pumpkin flesh drifted in from the houses at the edge of the woods。
Ghost wondered if the one…eyed jack…o'…lantern he had carved was still burning on their front porch。 He felt desperate to talk about something； anything else。 〃The lost souls get to e out tonight；〃 he said。
〃Huh？ You mean us？〃 The joint had gone out。 Steve lit it again。
〃Uh…uh。〃 Ghost sucked spicy smoke； felt his lungs expand and his brain swirl。 〃All the dark things。 All the sad things and the minds left over from the bodies； the minds who don't know they're dead； the ones with no place to go。〃 He felt his pupils grow larger against the dark。 〃And the evil things； too。〃
〃Now you're trying to give me the creeps。 Well； I can play that game too。 Want me to tell you the story of the Hook again？ Huh？〃 The joint had burned down to a quarter inch。 Steve snuffed it and dropped it in the pine needles； then began to cough。 〃Fuck it。 I want a beer。 Let's go over to R。J。's。〃
〃Shhh。〃 Ghost's head came up。 His hair fell over his eyes； and he brushed it away。 After a second Steve sat up and stared into the woods too。 Something flickered through the pines and kudzu； a bright orange smudge on the night。 A jack…o'…lantern； Ghost guessed； burning on someone's porch。 But he thought he heard a rustle； a noise just slightly too loud to be made by a squirrel or a night bird…a crunch。 Footsteps。 Soft footsteps； ing through the woods。
〃Something's out there；〃 he told Steve。
Steve opened his mouth and shut it again。 He was going to say something about smoking too much weed； Ghost supposed； but had thought better of it。 Good。 〃Okay；〃 Steve managed in a whisper。 〃What do we do？〃
〃Get up quiet。 Stay behind me。〃
Steve grabbed Ghost's ann。 Ghost felt electricity flowing between them； white and crackling and pure。 〃Like hell I will。 I'm not letting you…〃
〃Stay behind me；〃 Ghost said again； and looked straight into the woods； trying to feel out whatever might be ing。
Then branches broke； dead leaves rattled down like dry brown bones。 Something round and fiery hurtled toward them。 Steve went down fast； pulling Ghost with him。 Ghost fell as limply as a rag doll。 The savage orb exploded against Miles's gravestone。 Ripe orange pulp splattered them。
Ghost shielded his face with one hand and felt wildly for Steve with the other； then heard an unhappy young voice wail； 〃Shit…I tripped…my shoelace came untied…〃
Ghost lifted his head。 〃Nothing？〃 Chunks of pumpkin and pulp slimed the ground； shiny black in the moonlight。 In the middle of the mess； the boy struggled to his knees and swiped futilely at his raincoat。 He wouldn't meet Ghost's eyes。 〃Shit！ I tripped over my own goddamn shoelace…I'm sorry…〃
〃It's okay。 Don't worry about it。〃 Ghost crawled over and put his hand on Nothing's shoulder。 Nothing's face tilted up to Ghost's。 His eyes were shadowed； his cheekbones more prominent than they had been outside the Sacred Yew a month ago； his lips drawn tight across h