vehicle. One of them was starting to sidle toward the house. To give warning.

Mike got out of the car, drew his weapon, and pointed at the boy with his other hand. Not aiming the gun at him, just pointing. The boy froze.

Mike looked around quickly. No weapons being pointed at him. Nobody was on alert—this wasn't a drug deal or anything they planned. Just a party. Didn't expect cops to show up.

Another LAPD vehicle turned the corner, moving fast. His backup was here. He should still wait till they were out of the car, till they could cover the back door and go in in force. But the girl was in there, and maybe there was a chance to stop this thing before it got too bad for her.

So he jogged to the door. It was a piece of crap like all the materials used in these houses. He stepped back and stomped his foot hard against the door just beside the knob. The frame broke and let the door swing free. The music was so loud nobody heard it. He also couldn't hear if the other cops were running toward him or not. Couldn't hear anything except the music.

He moved into the house. Nobody in the living room, where the stereo made the cheap furniture tremble like an earthquake.

In the kitchen was a girl making a sandwich. Probably the girlfriend. Her brother was raping her friend in the back room and she was making a sandwich. She had her back to the kitchen door and didn't hear him. He knew he should neutralize her first—get her down on the floor, out of harm's way—but he let her be and moved on toward the bedrooms.

Now the music wasn't quite so loud and he could hear a girl's voice. "Please, God, no." Or was she saying, "Please, Rod, no"? Wasn't the boy's name Rod?

The door was slightly ajar. Six boys, none of them older than fourteen, were gathered around a bed, laughing and leaning in, and some of them were holding the arms and legs of a girl who had been stripped from the waist down. She was crying, and one of the youngest boys was poised over her.

"Come on, Sherita, I want you so bad."

It was as if the words had plunged a dagger into her heart, the way she sobbed. But she also held still. Surrendering now.

Mike shoved the boy nearest to him, sending him sprawling across Sherita's body, knocking Rod aside. The other boys whirled around to find Mike training his gun on each of them in turn. "All of you little bastards get down on the floor with your hands on your heads. Right now!"

No chance for them to put on their brave gang faces. No chance to go for whatever weapons they might have had.

"She wanted it!" Rod was screaming. "She just showed up here, she just showed up and she Mike pushed the barrel of the pistol into his face and Rod dropped to the floor.

Mike looked at the youngest of the boys. "You. Get up and put something over her privates.

Right now!"

He did.

The stereo went silent in the living room.

Another officer stood beside him, gun drawn. "You crazy, coming in here without backup?"

"Stopped them before they got into her," said Mike.

"Well, then, it's only attempted, isn't it, you moron," said the other cop.

"Let's ask her if she wished I waited," said Mike.

Sherita rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, weeping. The young boy untucked a corner of the sheet and brought it up over her rear end. Her butt was so big that it wouldn't stay, it slipped off.

"That's all right," said Mike, holstering his weapon and putting a hand on her shoulder. He helped her off the bed, then pulled the whole sheet off and helped her wrap it around herself. Then he kicked a couple of the boys to get them out of the way so they could walk out.

The girl from the kitchen was standing in the hallway, holding her sandwich with two bites out of it. She looked genuinely horrified. "Sherita," she said, "when you get here? What's going on?"

"Your friend was about to be raped by Rod," said Mike savagely. "And don't pretend you didn't know about it. Don't pretend you didn't help him set it up."

"Swear to God!" she said. "That little shit was going to rape her?"

Mike brushed her aside, bouncing her off the wall just a little as he continued to convey Sherita Banks down the hall and into the living room where the other cop, the one who had turned off the stereo, was watching.

"I'm taking her home," said Mike. "I'll get her statement."

Ceese finished his calls with his mother frantically demanding that he tell her what was going on.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said.

"Try me!" she demanded.

"You're waking people up from a sound sleep because Mack had a nightmare?"

"Same kind of nightmare he had the night Tamika Brown got herself inside her parents'

waterbed," said Ceese. "Same kind of dream as when Mr. Tyler got hit on the head by an I-beam cause his daughter Romaine wished he could be home with her all the time."

"What are you saying? That somebody's murdering people?"

"I'm saying somebody's making wishes come true in a sick, twisted, evil way, and it's happening tonight."

"Wishes?" she said. "Like in fairy tales?"

"No," said Ceese. "Wishes like in hell, where the devil tortures sinners by making their wishes come true."

"But Tamika Brown wasn't a sinner!"

He couldn't believe she was arguing religion with him. "Who says the devil plays fair?" said Ceese. "Now I got to go."

"Where, at this time of night?"

Ceese had his keys in his hand and was at the front door. "Professor Williams didn't answer the phone."

"All this comes from Mack Street's dreams?"

"There's more to the boy than most folks thought."

"He's got the evil eye, that's what."

Ceese whirled on her. "Don't say that," he said. "It's a lie."

She flashed with anger. "You calling your mama a liar?"

"Don't you ever speak against Mack Street," he said. "It's Mack saving all these people's lives. If we get there in time to save them."

Grand Harrison had the flashlight because he knew the way, more or less. Mack and Yo Yo followed close behind. Mack had been in cemeteries before but never at night with shadows looming and something ugly waiting for them when they got to Ophelia McCallister's husband's grave. He did have the queen of the fairies with him, but apparently she didn't have all her powers, since her soul was locked up in a glass jar hanging in midair in a clearing in Fairyland.

Then again, maybe she was lying. Puck always did, and he was the only other fairy Mack knew personally, so maybe lying was just something fairies did. He didn't intend to get himself killed just to prove she was wrong.

"Here it is," said Grand. "But look, the ground is completely undisturbed. Nobody's done anything here."

"Dig," said Yo Yo.

"No! That's just—"

Yo Yo put a hand on his cheek. "For me."

Mack was amazed. The man's whole face and posture and everything changed. He was in love with her, right on the spot. Completely out of his mind crazy for her. Like a puppy dog.

"You want me to dig?" he said. "How deep?"

"Let's find Mr. McCallister's coffin," said Yo Yo.

And so they dug. That is, Mack and Grand dug, Grand wielding the pick to loosen things up, and Mack shoveling and then Grand joining in with the other shovel, working fast—Mack because he knew there wouldn't be much air in that coffin, and Grand because he was showing off for his new lady love.

"Yo Yo," said Mack, "you going to kill this man if he don't slow down."

"Grand," she said lazily, "take it a little slower. Don't want you getting a heart attack on me."

Grand Harrison grinned like a jack-o'-lantern and slowed down just a little.

And after a while they hit wood. They couldn't lift the lid until they cleared away the dirt the whole length and breadth of the coffin, and even when they'd done that, it took serious work with the crowbar to get the thing open. It wasn't a cheap coffin.