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blinked and Necra meowed, almost to say “you lose” and then darted off.
    Lysander lay in bed, trying to convince himself to get up, when he heard his mother bellowing after him from downstairs. He ignored her for a second, and then grew curious. Had someone come over? Not Peter Hume, he hoped. No, the voice downstairs sounded deep and friendly and touched with a southern drawl. He dressed quickly to see who it was. Downstairs, he found his mother by the entrance, her face lit with a great big smile. A giggle escaped her lips, and the sound of it startled Lysander.
    The man at the door looked old and soft. The first thought that came to Lysander was that he looked like Elmer Fudd.
    He lifted his head and smiled at Lysander. Deep lines formed at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
    “Lysander, this is our neighbor, Reverend… oh, I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
    “Oh, don’t be. It’s Small…Reverend Nathaniel Small of the Bethlehem Baptist Church. You must be Lysander.” Light from outside danced off what looked like a silver ring on Reverend Small’s hand. In the center was the engraving of a fish. The same one Lysander had seen on so many bumper stickers. How did they go again?
    Real men love Jesus
    Are you following Jesus this close?
    This fish won’t fry, will you?
    “I run a small church down on Tuslow. You folks may have seen it. Looks more like a grocery store than it does a church.”
    His mother nodded. “I know it. By the fire station.”
    “That’s her,” Small said and flashed a set of mostly straight teeth. “We used to have a big old beauty three streets over, but not two years ago she burned right to the ground. ‘Lectrical fire.” He seemed to pause to consider this. “Would be awfully great to see you nice people down there on Sunday, so long as there aren’t other matters pressing you too hard.” He peered in at the packing boxes piled in the living room.
    Reverend Small was still smiling when he withdrew a gold pocket watch. He snapped the lid open and gasped at the time.
    “Now I’d be lying if I told you nice folks I wasn’t partially here on business. Mrs. Grady’s dog, from down the street, went off again last night after a raccoon or somethin’ and we haven’t seen him since. He’s one of them husky dogs, about yay high, white coat. You folks seen him ‘round?”
    “No, we haven’t,” his mother said, concerned. “But we’ll sure keep an eye out.”
    The reverend’s gaze fixed on Lysander’s black eye. “I hope you didn’t let anyone get the better of you there, son.”
    His mother slid an arm around him and pulled him closer. “Lysander had a rough first day at school, that’s all. You know how kids are.”
    The reverend smiled knowingly. “Regretfully, I have no children of my own, but our congregation is nearly burstin’ with ‘em. Most go to the local high school. So chances are good, young man, that you might just know one or two of ‘em.”
    Reverend Small’s eyes flicked over his mother’s stomach. He grinned sheepishly. “My mother used to tell me that I was bolder than the print on the Sunday Times, so I hope you’ll forgive me, but I see you have a little one well on the way.”
    His mother blushed, cupping the bulge in her tummy. “Seven months,” she said proudly.
    “And what a beautiful little girl I’m sure she’ll be.”
    Lysander’s mother nodded dreamily. “Yes, she will.”
    The two of them burst into a gale of laugher that made the reverend’s face turn the color of a ripe tomato.
    As he bid God bless and turned to leave—this time for real—Lysander couldn’t help thinking about something the old man had said, about there being other kids at church.
    If that were true, and not a ploy to lure unsuspecting victims to Sunday service, there was a chance that Summer might be there as well. At the very least, it was worth a shot.

Chapter 5
    W hen Lysander opened the door he found a panicked figure before him.