“It’s a terrible trick for God to allow it to rain on Halloween.”

Tiny was frowning as she poured a handful of candy corn into her mouth. “I mean, I get it. Most years the weather is awesome, right, so I guess that’s the treat. But when we get the trick…”

Tiny, Gracey, and the Prime of Darkness sat huddled together on the porch swing, listening to the rain fall in heavy sheets, waiting for the neighborhood kids to come beg for candy. Gracey was dressed as Rainbow Brite; Tiny, dressed as a belly dancer, had succumbed to the cold and damp and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. The demon wore what he always wore—a molded chest plate of indeterminate material, black leather pants, motorcycle boots, spiked metal pauldrons, and a red cape. He had a plastic cauldron filled with candy balanced on his lap. The flames from the line of jack-o-lanterns perched jauntily on the porch rail threw dancing shadows on the walls of the old house until an ill wind swept through and extinguished half the candles.

It was a miserable Halloween.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Gracey said, chewing a Tootsie Roll. “Don’t you remember going trick or treating in the rain, running through the puddles and laughing when your makeup melted into streaks down your face? I remember,” Gracey smiled. “I remember … I wasn’t quite sixteen so you must have been about six. You were a fairy princess. It was raining that year, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t let you wear the ballet slippers that went with your outfit. They made you wear boots, and you threw a fit because you said fairies don’t wear boots.”

“Well, they don’t,” Tiny interrupted. “I mean, I was just a kid but I was going for verisimilitude.”

“Actually,” Darkness said, his face drawn, “I don’t think fairies exist at all.”

The sisters exchanged exasperated looks.

“Anyway, you were mad about the boots, and then when we got outside you were mad about the rain. It smudged your makeup. So you started crying and carrying on until I told you to just tell people you were a Rambo fairy.”

“Oh my God,” Tiny breathed, eyes wide. “I do remember that! You said I looked like Rambo, but I didn’t know who that was. But I did what you said, and everyone laughed and said I looked awesome. Like I planned it.” She grinned, dug into the cauldron on Prime of Darkness’s lap. “Ooh, Butterfinger,” she purred, ripping off the wrapper.

A small group of kids bounded up the gravel drive, making their way to the porch. They were squealing with laughter, their costumes invisible beneath their rain slickers. They produced their candy bags and sang out a chorus of “Trick or treat!”, their smiling, ruined faces upturned and glowing.

The Prime of Darkness reached into the cauldron and grabbed a large handful of candy, dropping pieces into the children’s bags. One of the little boys in front, who might have been dressed as a cowboy, looked Darkness up and down with appreciation. “What are you?”

The demon smiled. “I am a Prime of Darkness.”

The boy cocked his head to the side in confusion. “What’s a prime of darkness?”

The Prime of Darkness faltered. It was a question he wasn’t sure how to answer, not to a child to whom he couldn’t possibly reveal the whole truth. On the other hand, he was incapable of lying. It posed a small dilemma. “Well, it’s a kind of soldier,” he said, after the uncertain pause. “A top soldier, above an ace or a deuce. But, just a soldier. That’s all.”

The boy didn’t look satisfied, but more explanation would have meant less time to acquire as much candy as possible, and his friends were already growing antsy. “Cool costume,” the boy said. “Thank you!” A disingenuous chorus of obligatory thank-yous followed, and the children took off toward the next house.

The wind picked up, and Tiny pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Gracey noticed, took a motherly interest. “Tiny, you should go in the house and put on a sweater or something. You’re shivering,” she said.

“I’m all right.” The redhead shrugged beneath the blanket. “It’s mood weather. We gonna watch a movie tonight?”

“What do we have?” The Prime of Darkness unwrapped a roll of Smarties and began popping them into his mouth.

Tiny counted the movies on her fingers. “Army of Darkness—I got that for you, Darkness, you’ll love it—Serpent and the Rainbow and, my personal favorite, Shaun of the Dead. And I even made caramel popcorn,” Tiny said, smiling.

“I made the popcorn,” Gracey corrected. “You sat on the counter and stuck your fingers in the caramel.”

“I kept you company,” Tiny said.

Another group of children approached, these wearing masks. When they arrived on the porch, they thrust their bags out before them and shouted, “Trick or treat!” It was more a demand than a pleasantry.

The Prime of Darkness handed out the candies, and two of the three kids muttered “Thank you” as they ran away. But the third stayed behind and removed his mask. It was Marco.

“Hey, Marco,” Gracey said, smiling. “Your costume is great; what are you?”

“A demonic overlord,” he said. The mask in his hand was a metallic orange with a pointy chin and horns. He wore a simple black tunic and glow-in-the-dark skeleton gloves.

The Prime of Darkness made a face. “You know, there isn’t exactly—”

But Gracey placed a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. The demon took this as a cue to discontinue that thought. “Well, you look great,” Darkness finished.

If Marco noticed the exchange, he didn’t let on. He was looking at the Prime of Darkness with concern. “You’re not wearing a costume,” he said finally.

“Oh!” The Prime of Darkness leaned back into the porch swing, clearly taken aback. “Ah. Well, this is a costume,” he said. Even in the dim light, his pauldrons gleamed.

But Marco shook his head. “You wear that every day. On Halloween, you’re supposed to be something else.”

The Prime of Darkness crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“It’s fun.”

The demon and the boy stood in silence, examining each other in earnest. After a moment, Marco took a sheepish step forward. “Well, here,” he said, handing the mask to the demon. “You can have that. You have to wear something,” he said.

Tentatively, with a strange feeling in his chest, the demon accepted the proffered mask and carefully fixed it over his face. It was a little snug, but the eye holes were big enough. “Thank you,” he said. His voice came out muffled.

“My name’s Marco,” the boy said, holding out a hand.

The strange feeling in the demon’s chest grew until it pressed against his lungs. Something caught in his throat. The Prime of Darkness accepted Marco’s gesture, and the two demons, one makeshift and the other not so much, shook hands. “I’m a Prime of Darkness,” he said for the second time that evening. “Ah, you can just call me Darkness.”

Marco smiled, his eyes flicking briefly to Gracey. He saw that she was grinning.

Without another word, he took off. He had some catching up to do.

When Marco was gone, Gracey turned to Darkness and admired his mask. “Pretty,” she said. “Looks like you made a friend.” She was still grinning.

The demon nodded. “Guess I did,” he said, his voice curiously soft.

The strange feeling in his chest was still there. After a moment, he realized the feeling was tenderness.

He didn’t take the mask off all night.

The sun had already dipped down below the horizon as the boys breached the gates to the Love & War cemetery. The night was still and calm; only a gentle breeze rustled through what was left of the grass that had once carpeted the graveyard. The cemetery was as old as Love & War itself, and although the cemetery had seen a few recent arrivals, the grounds were not maintained as well as they once were. A few graves sported tacky, faded, plastic flowers, but most were bare. Sunbleached and wind-weathered stones dotted now-crooked grave rows amidst a sea of dead grass.

Silence descended upon the boys as they made their way through the cemetery, eyes searching tombstones for the name “Minerva Auckland”. Although they didn’t say so, both Marco and Alejandro, being only eight and having only mastered the art of reading the year before, were a little concerned that they wouldn’t recognize the name even if they saw it, because although “Minerva” sounded like it was probably easy to spell, neither boy had any idea how to spell “Auckland”.

They needn’t have worried, however, for it was Cheehawk who made the discovery. “It’s here,” he said, calling from the far back corner of the cemetery. Cheehawk crouched down low, running his fingers along the the carved stone as he read. “‘Minerva Katherine Auckland, 1818–1853. Bear me no grief, shed me no tear. For as I foresee it, you’ll too soon be here.’” Cheehawk shuddered, shaking his hand as though to shake off the poem. “That’s creepy,” he said.

Marco and Alejandro gulped and exchanged looks. Actually standing at the witch’s grave amid the crumbling walls and dead grass, the whole idea of making contact with her started to seem… less than good. Marco, swallowing hard and clenching his fists, cast a sideways glance at his brother, hoping against hope that his brother would call off the event.

But his hopes were dashed as soon as Alejandro plopped on the ground and said, “Aw, well, let’s get started.” Marco felt his stomach lurch as he settled down next to his bother and across from Cheehawk, who also was beginning to look a little green around the gills. Cheeawk placed the game on the ground and gingerly removed the lid, revealing a water-stained board and a chipped, plastic planchette.

Cheehawk lifted the board and planchette, flicking the box aside. “We all have to sit as close together as we can,” he instructed. “You guys better not have lice,” he said with a sneer.

“We don’t,” the twins chimed. They came together into a small huddle, sitting Indian style, their knees touching. Cheehawk placed the board on the ground between them and put the planchette in position. Following the older boy’s lead, the twins placed two fingers from each hand gently on the planchette.

“Now what?” Marco asked.

“Be quiet,” Cheehawk instructed. “I’ll take it from here. Just keep your fingers lightly on the thingie. And whatever you do, don’t let go!” He gave the boys a stern stare, and they nodded silently.

The ritual began.

“We wanna talk to Minerva Auckland,” Cheehawk said, his voice low and monotone, his eyes closed tight. “Minerva Auckland, if you’re out there, we’re here to…say happy birthday.” He hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say, or even given it much thought. Marco looked askance at his friend, thinking maybe Cheehawk had fibbed a bit when he said he knew what he was doing.

Nothing happened.

“Minerva Auckland,” Cheehawk said again, this time his voice a little louder. “We want to speak with Minerva Auckland, the witch who burned up in her house in Love & War.”

Nothing happened.

Cheehawk cursed under his breath, and while he cast about for something more inviting to say, Marco had an idea. “Probably gotta ask it a question,” Marco said, his voice only slightly more than a whisper. He closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and said, “Minerva Auckland, Minerva Auckland, can you hear us? Are you here?”

A beat. Two. The boys were so still they dared not even breathe. Then, without fanfare, the planchette wobbled, a slight jerk, before it began gliding across the board, lurching to a stop when it reached the top left corner of the board, which read, “Yes”.

“You’re pushing it,” Alejandro hissed, his voice less steady as he would have liked. But both Marco and Cheehaw shook their heads, their eyes wide with fright and wonder.

“Hush! Marco, ask it another question.”

Biting his lip, Marco concentrated and asked, “Ah, Minerva Auckland, how many boys are sitting at your grave tonight?”

The planchette jerked, stopped, and then glided down the board to the row of numbers, stopping when the clear plastic of the planchette hovered over the 3.

“Oh man, this is freaking me out,” Alejandro said, his voice breaking. He almost sounded on the verge of tears. “You guys sure you’re not pushing it?”

Neither boy answered as Marco prepared his next question. “Minerva, can you tell us anything about the future?”

The planchette moved smoothly across the board, stopped decisively at “Yes”.

Marco looked up from the board, eyes searching. “What should we ask it?”

Cheehawk thought for a moment. Then he said, “Ask her if she knows what the winning lotto numbers are.”

Marco made a face. “Are you sure I should ask her that?”

Cheehawk nodded furiously. “Do you know how many video games we could buy if we won the lottery? I bet I could even get Ma to buy me my football uniform.”

Winning the lottery could buy a lot of video games, and though Marco wasn’t a big a fan as his brother or Cheehawk, even he could see the benefit of having his choice of any game securely locked behind the glass doors at the Walmart in Placerita. And besides, what else was he going to ask? Returning his attention to the board, Marco asked, “Minerva, can you tell us what the winning lotto numbers will be?”

The planchette was still. The boys glanced at each other apprehensively, then back down at the unmoving board. Finally, the planchette began to stir. It moved around the board in rapid figure eight patterns, its speed steady, its movement fluid. Then the planchette stopped. After a moment it began to spell something out. “U-M-U-S-T-I-N-V-I-T-E-M-E.”

Alejandro spoke the words as he read them. “Um ustin vite me?” The confusion on his face was mirrored in Cheehawk’s expression.

But the message was clear to Marco. “You must invite me,” he whispered. “She wants…” He shook his head, concentrated hard on the board. “Invite you where?”

The planchette began to move again. This time, it did not hesitate. It spelled out, “T-H-E-L-I-V-I-N-G-W-O-R-L-D.”

There was no mistaking what the board spelled out this time, and all the boys instinctively snatched their hands away from the planchette as they started at each other in horror. “What should we do?” Marco asked the others.

“What does she mean, invite her? Can she get out? I mean…she’s dead, right? Can the ouija board bring her here?” Cheehawk’s words spilled out of him like candy out of a piñata. His eyes darted between Marco and Alejandro, searching. “I mean, vampires can’t go in your house unless you invite them. So maybe she can’t get here unless we invite her.” He shook his head, waving his hands in front of his face. “Noooo way. She can just stay right there!” Then a thought struck him. “Is she gonna get mad if we don’t invite her? Is she gonna hex us or—” His voice was rising steadily higher as his panic reached a climax. His pudgy face was red and beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead. “What do we do?” he squealed.

“Didn’t you say you’d done this before?” Alejandro asked. “Shouldn’t you know if ghosts can come through the ouija board?”

Cheehawk’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no words came out. He’d been caught in a lie, and there was no use trying to deny it. Instead, he slumped down, shoulders drooping, and put his head in his hands, trying not to cry.

They sat in silence a moment, and then Alejandro made a decision. “Can we hang up on her by moving the thingie over the ‘Good Bye’ at the bottom if it gets too scary?”

Cheehawk shrugged his shoulders without looking up. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe. I think so.”

Marco was shaking his head slowly, tears of fear welling up in his eyes. He didn’t care if his brother saw him cry. He didn’t care if they called him names. He didn’t want to go any further. He wanted to leave the cemetery. The tiny hairs at the back of his neck were standing up, and he was beginning to get a Very Bad Feeling. He knew with all his heart that they should put the ouija board away and go home, change into pajamas and watch something funny on television until the bad feeling went away. He could practically hear a voice whispering in his ear, saying, “Cut it out, Marco. Cut it out right now.”

But he couldn’t. Sitting there, perched on the brink of certain, inevitable disaster, Marco became a pawn in someone else’s game of chess—merely an object to be moved around, a means to someone else’s end. Even as his insides reared up and his conscious mind threatened him with every weapon in its arsenal, Marco felt the invisible puppeteer pulling his marionette strings. He felt (though who could say if it were true) locked into a single course of action, predetermined, one his entire life—all eight years of it—had led up to. Propelled forward by forces unseen, Marco moved through his next motions unwillingly, fearfully, and knowing with a soul-deep dread that he couldn’t do anything about any of it.

He couldn’t.

And that was why, though every fiber of his being railed against it, he took a breath and put his fingers back on the planchette. After a moment, the other boys followed suit.

“Minerva Auckland,” Marco whispered, his voice shaking as he blinked back his tears. “We invite you to the world of the living. We—”

But before he could finish his thought, the planchette began to spin under their fingers and then shot off the edge of the board, landing in a patch of brown grass and eliciting a screech from each of the boys. Officially scared out of their wits, they scrambled to their feet, still screaming, and as they ran for the cemetery gates they could swear they heard a peal of deranged, high-pitched laughter that was certainly, definitely, coming from Minerva Auckland’s headstone.

They didn’t stop to see what was happening. Pumping their arms and legs as hard as they could, the boys fled the cemetery like bats out of hell. They didn’t stop running until they’d made it back to the Flores place, their hearts thumping so hard they feared they might explode. Marco was crying freely now, scared and angry at himself. Angry at Cheehawk and Alejandro. And suddenly, so, so tired.

But even in his wild fear, he realized, too late, they never said ‘Good Bye’.

They’d seen the pink Mary Kay mobile hauling ass down the road, which meant Mrs. Parker was in town visiting her sister Bibi, which meant that Cheehawk would be showing up at the Flores house any minute.

Cheehawk Parker, World Renowned Maker of Adventure and Mischief, was from Odessa, Texas, which meant he knew a thing or two about the world that the kids of Love & War simply weren’t privy to. He knew, for example, what a carjacking was, how girls got pregnant, and how to trick a gas station attendant into selling cigarettes to a minor. Whenever Cheehawk came to visit, Love & War got a little bit more interesting.

Of course, Cheehawk knew this about himself. Which made him kind of a pain in the ass.

He was also two or three years older than Marco and Alejandro, which, when coupled with his Big City bravado and acumen, made him a force to be reckoned with.

“Is that him, coming up the street?” Marco pointed toward the oncoming apparition.

Alejandro folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Yup. That’s him. He’s got something with him.”

The boys watched with growing anticipation as Cheehawk marched up the street. As he drew nearer, the twins saw it was a board game he had tucked under his arm. When he was close enough, he raised his free arm in greeting, and the boys returned the wave. Huffing a little, Cheehawk offered the twins a smile, and then spit on the ground, just missing his feet.

“Hey, you got anything to drink? It’s a long walk from Aunt Bibi’s.”

Alejandro made a face. “It’s not that long; you’re just fat. I thought you were gonna play football at your new school.” Alejandro couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice. He played soccer, and thought it was important for boys to be active in sports. His father had said so. His real father.

“I was gonna,” Cheehawk said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “But those bastards wanted us to pay $200 for uniforms. Ma said she wasn’t gonna pay that kind of money for nothin’ less it was gold plated. I didn’t really want to play football anyway,” Cheehawk said, his tone unconvincing. “Glad you’re here, Alex; I thought you might be with your pop today.” The relief in his voice was evident, and Marco realized with a sick feeling that Cheehawk was worried he’d have to play with just him.

“He’s out of town,” Alejandro muttered. “Marco, go get Cheehawk some Kool Aid, wouldja?”

But Marco didn’t budge. “What you got?” He pointed to the game under Cheehawk’s arm.

Having forgotten his thirst, Cheehawk drew the boys into a tight huddle and lifted the game from underneath his arm. The battered cover read, “OUIJA: Mystifying Oracle. William Fuld Talking Board Set.” It depicted two sets of hands resting on a strange object.

“What’s oo-ee ha?” Marco asked, the word feeling strange and mysterious in his mouth.

“WEE JEE,” Cheehawk corrected, his eyes sparkling. “I found it in Aunt Bibi’s attic. It’s a board that lets you talk to the spirits of dead people.”

“That’s stupid,” Alejandro said, rolling his eyes. “You can’t talk to dead people, because they’re dead.”

“Do you know how to do it?” Marco asked, ignoring his brother. He was still staring at the floating hands on the cover, bewitched.

“Of course,” Cheehawk snapped, puffing out his chest. “It works best if you have a real perfect conditions. And our conditions couldn’t be more perfect.” He’d gotten that gleam in his eye, the gleam the Flores twins knew all too well: it meant Adventure.

“What conditions?” Alejandro asked.

Taking a quick survey of their surroundings to ensure their privacy, Cheehawk lowered his voice. “Do you know what today is?”

“Friday,” Marco said.

Cheehawk sucked his teeth. “No, stupid, I mean, what day it is. Why it’s special.” When neither of the boys said anything, Cheehawk licked his lips and whispered, “It’s Minerva Auckland’s birthday.”

The news didn’t get the reaction Cheehawk hoped for. “Who’s Minerva Auckland?”

Cheehawk’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Who’s Minerva Auckland? Sheez, don’t you guys know anything about your own town? Minerva Auckland is the famous witch who used to live here. You know that terrible magician who lives on the other side of town, Simon St. Laine?”

Marco snorted. “Sure, we know Simon St. Laine. He did a show at our school last year at the PTA meeting. He couldn’t guess what card Maggie was holding, even though he guessed three times, and then he just went on to another trick to try to cover it up, but everybody knew he screwed up. He’s the worst. And–”

“ANYWAY,” Cheehawk interrupted. “She’s his great great great great grandmother.” He looked pleased as punch as he made the announcement. If he was uncertain about how many greats he should have used, it didn’t show on his face.

“Well, what’s she famous for?” Alejandro asked.

At this, Cheehawk dithered a bit, but his bravado didn’t fade. “Well, Aunt Bibi wouldn’t tell me the whole story, so it probably has something to do with sex. Or politics. Or both.” Marco and Alejandro made gross-out faces. “But she did say that she was such an awful witch and did so many bad things, that some of the local people got together and burned her house to the ground with her still in it.”

Marco exclaimed, “That stinks!” at the same time Alejandro cooed, “Cooool!” Now that he had both boys’ rapt attention, Cheehawk’s expression melted into a veritable cat-ate-the-canary grin. He straightened up and slid the ouija board back under his arm. “Yeah,” he said, a fire in his eyes. “So we’re gonna take the ouija board to the cemetery and call up that dead witch. Maybe we can hear the story of her murder from her own mouth!”

Marco wasn’t so sure about that and was about to say so when he caught his brother’s expression. Alejandro was hooked; in fact, he was nearly drooling with excitement. He clapped Marco on the shoulder and squeezed, his eyes dark and narrow. “You’re not gonna chicken out, right, Marco?”

Sighing, Marco looked down at the ground. “No,” he said softly.

“He’s good,” Alejandro announced, turning his attention back to the older boy, who was practically hopping from foot to foot. “We going now? It’s about to get dark. We’re not really supposed to leave the street after dark.”

With no further ado, Cheehawk hooted, punched the air with his fist, and took off running down the street toward the cemetery. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!” he shouted over his shoulder.

The twins darted after him into the dark.

Gracey came home with an armload of groceries and dropped them on the kitchen table. Hearing her sister arrive, Tiny popped in the from the living room and began digging through the bags as though searching for buried treasure.

“What are you looking for?” Gracey asked, only slightly annoyed. Tiny had always been this way. Impatient.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know, Gracey. Please tell me you got Snickers. Or Reese’s Cups! I’d settle for–Oh, God, Skittles?” Tiny slammed the enormous bag of Skittles on the counter and gave Gracey a dark stare. “Are you kidding me?”

Gracey raised an eyebrow as she began methodically sifting through the groceries, putting everything in its proper place. “What, who doesn’t like Skittles? Taste the rainbow,” Gracey said, stifling a grin.

“Where’s the chocolate, Gracey? It’s not Halloween without chocolate!”

Gracey chuckled as she wedged a 5 pound bag of sugar onto the pantry shelf. “Cool your jets, sunshine, there’s chocolate in there. I got a bag of Twix and a bag of Reese’s Cups. I don’t think I got Snickers, though. There’s also a bag of Smarties in there, but don’t give me crap about that; those are for Darkness. He asked for them specifically.”

Tiny wrinkled her nose as she pulled the bag of small, chalk-like candies out of the grocery bag and tossed them disdainfully on the counter. “You know, sometimes you can almost forget he’s a demon, and then he asks for Smarties, and you remember he’s from Hell.”

Gracey nodded. “Yep. Smarties are proof of Satan’s dominion on Earth,” she said simply. Glancing around, she asked, “Where is he anyway?”

Tiny waved her hand toward the back of the house. “In the barn. I sent him to go see if you had any Halloween decorations.”

“Finish putting these away,” Gracey said, motioning to the groceries. “And don’t eat up all this candy, Tiny, I mean it. I don’t want to have to go buy more for the kids,” she said. She gave Tiny a Very Stern Look, which Tiny returned with wide eyes and all but an angel’s halo circling the crown of her head. She smiled as she ripped open the bag of Reese’s Cups, and giggled as they spilled onto the floor.

Gracey found the Prime of Darkness in the garage, rummaging through piles of junk. He was muttering something under his breath as he flung cardboard boxes around impatiently.

“Heya, Darkness,” Gracey said.

The demon jumped, startled, and then gave Gracey a small smile. “Heya, Gracey. I’m sorry I’m making a mess back here. I’m just… looking for something.”

Gracey waded through the dislodged junk and picked out a cardboard box with the word “HALLOWEEN” written across the front in black marker. “This what you’re looking for?” she asked.

Darkness took one look at the box and shook his head, returning to the piles of stuff at his feet. “Actually, no,” he said. “I found that immediately. I’m looking for…do you have any rope? Or an old tire? Or some wood you don’t need…like a two by four?”

Gracey propped the box on her hip and looked around. The barn was normally in disarray, but now it was an utter mess. “I’m not sure, Darkness. Maybe. Probably. What do you need it for?”

Darkness opened his mouth to answer, and then promptly shut it again. He thought for a minute, then said, “I think that kid across the street’s been spying on me,” he said.

“Which kid? Marco or Alejandro?”

The Prime of Darkness shrugged. “I don’t know, aren’t they twins?”

“Yup.”

“Then I don’t know,” he said again. “Is he a nice kid?”

Gracey, surprised by the question, shifted her weight and shrugged. “Well, I don’t know which one you mean. I mean, they’re both nice boys. Alejandro’s a bit of a handful, but I think they’re supposed to be at that age. Marco’s real quiet; awful sweet. Withdrawn, though. Kind of a loner; I hardly ever see him playing with anybody.”

The Prime of Darkness nodded. “I thought so,” he said simply.

Gracey waited for the demon to speak again, but he didn’t, retuning to his hunt for wood and rope. She watched him a moment, bewildered. She was always surprised, and more than a little put off, by the ease with which he could dismiss her even while she was still standing with him. It was just another way in which he was...different.

“Anyway,” she said finally, “I just came out here to see what you wanted for dinner. I got stuff to make fish tacos or ratatouille, your choice.”

Darkness seemed to think a moment. “Ratatouille’s the stuff with the vegetables, right?”

“Yup.”

“Fish tacos,” Darkness said, returning to his hunt. As Gracey turned to leave, Darkness remembered something, and hopped up one last time. “Hey,” he said, “did you get the Smarties?”

Gracey smiled sweetly, cocking her head to the side. “My favorite supernatural creature,” she purred. “I got your back.”

She dropped him a wink and carried the box of Halloween decorations out to the front porch.