Quinn came forward and Sam pulled him aside. His old friend looked tortured and sad.
“What’s up, brah?” Sam asked.
Quinn couldn’t speak. He was choked with emotion. “Dude . . .”
“You want to stay in town.”
“My crews . . . my boats and all . . .”
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “Quinn, I’m glad you found something so important to do. Something you really like.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
Sam pulled him into a brief hug. “You and me, we’re still friends, man. But you have responsibilities.

Hey, brah,” Quinn said.
“What is going on, do you know?” Sam asked.
“It’s a club.” Quinn grinned. “Man, you must be working too hard. Everyone knows about it.”
Sam stared at him. “It’s a what?”
“McClub, brah. All you need is some batteries or some toilet paper.”
This announcement left Sam baffled. He considered asking Quinn for clarification, but then Albert appeared, formally dressed, like he thought it was graduation or something. He actually had on a dark sports coat and slacks in a lighter shade. His shirt was pale blue, collared, and ironed. Spotting Sam, he extended his hand.
Sam ignored the hand. “Albert, what is going on here?”
“Dancing, mostly,” Albert said.
“Excuse me?”
“Kids are dancing.”
Quinn caught up then and stepped in front of Sam to shake Albert’s still-extended hand. “Hey, dude. I have batteries.”
“Good to see you, Quinn. The price is four D cells, or eight double As, or ten triple As, or a dozen Cs. If you have a mix, I can work it out.”
Quinn dug in his pocket and produced four triple A batteries and three D cells. He handed them to Albert, who agreed to the price and dropped the batteries into a plastic bag at his feet.
“Okay, the rules are no food, no alcohol, no attitude, no fights, and when I call ‘time,’ there’s no arguing about it. Do you agree to these rules?”
“Dude, if I had any food, would I be here? I’d be home eating it.” Quinn put his hand over his heart like he was pledging allegiance to the flag and said, “I do.” He jerked a thumb back at Sam. “Don’t bother with him: Sam doesn’t dance.”
“Have a good time, Quinn.

Now, who else speaks for Perdido Beach?”
Bouncing Bette said, “Sam Temple here went into a burning building to rescue a little girl. He can speak for me, anyway.”
There was a murmur of agreement.
“Yeah, Sam is a hero for real,” a voice said.
“He could have died,” another voice seconded.
“Yeah, Sam’s the guy.”
Caine’s smile came and disappeared so quickly, Sam wasn’t sure it had happened. For that millisecond it was a look of triumph. Caine walked straight up to Sam, open and forthright, hand extended.
“There are probably better people than me,” Sam said, backing away.

Why, so we can look for some little kid who probably doesn’t even know he’s missing?”
Again Sam resisted the surge of anger. As mildly as he could he said, “Brother, nobody is making you come.”
“You saying I shouldn’t?” Quinn took two quick steps and grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “You saying you want me to leave, brah?”
“No, man. You’re my best friend.”
“Your only friend.”
“Yeah. That’s right,” Sam admitted.
“All I’m saying is, who died and made you king?” Quinn asked. “You’re acting like you’re the boss here. How did that happen? How come I’m taking orders from you?”
“You’re not taking orders,” Sam said angrily. “I don’t want anyone taking orders from me. If I wanted people taking orders from me, all I had to do was stay in town and start telling people what to do.” In a quieter voice Sam said, “You can be in charge, Quinn.”
“I never said I wanted to be in charge,” Quinn huffed. But he was running out of resentment. He shot a dark look at Edilio, a wary look at Astrid. “It’s just weird, brah. Used to be it was you and me, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed.
In a whining voice Quinn said, “I just want to get our boards and head for the beach. I want everything to go back to how it was.” Then in a startling shout he cried, “Where is everyone? Why haven’t they come for us? Where. Are. My. Parents?

Sam always felt like a fool in this room. He sat in a too-big chair at one end of the table. Astrid was at the other. Her hands were on the table, slender fingers flat on the surface.
Dekka sat scowling, irritated, though Sam wasn’t sure at whom she was directing her dark mood. A piece of something blue was stuck in one of her tight cornrows—not that anyone was foolish enough to point it out or laugh.
Dekka was a freak, the only one besides Sam in this room. She had the power to temporarily cancel gravity in small areas. Sam counted her as an ally. Dekka was not about talking without end and getting nothing done.
Albert was the best-dressed person in the room, wearing an amazingly clean and seemingly un-salty polo shirt and relatively unwrinkled slacks. He looked like a very young businessman who had stopped by on his way to a round of golf.
Albert was a normal, though he seemed nevertheless to have an almost supernatural ability to organize, to make things happen, to do business. Looking at the group through hooded eyes, Sam knew Albert was probably the most powerful person in the room. Albert, more than any other person, had kept Perdido Beach from starving.
Edilio slumped, holding his head with both hands and not making eye contact with anyone. He had a submachine gun propped against his chair, a sight that had become all too normal.
Edilio was officially town marshal. Probably the mildest, most modest and least-assuming person in the council, he was in charge of enforcing whatever rules the council created. If they ever got around to actually creating any.
Howard was the wild card in the group. Sam still wasn’t sure how he had managed to talk his way onto the council. No one doubted that Howard was smart. But no one thought he had an honest or ethical bone in his body. Howard was chief toady to Orc, the glowering, drunken-boy-turned-monster who had fought on the right side a couple of times when it had really counted.
The youngest member was a sweet-faced boy named John Terrafino. He was a normal, too—Mary’s little brother. He seldom had much to say and mostly listened. Everyone assumed he voted however Mary told him to. Mary would have been there, but she was simultaneously indispensable and fragile.
Seven council members. Astrid as chairperson. Five normals, two freaks.

You can't let him get away with this!" Penny shrieked.
Caine wasn’t having it. “You stupid witch,” he yelled back. “No one told you to let it go that far!”
“He was mine for the day,” Penny hissed. She pressed a rag to her nose, which had started bleeding again.
“He tore his own eyes out. What did you think Quinn would do? What do you think Albert will do now?” He bit savagely at his thumb, a nervous habit.
“I thought you were the king!”
Caine reacted without thinking. He swung a hard backhand at her face. The blow did not connect, but the thought did. Penny flew backward like she’d been hit by a bus. She smacked hard against the wall of the office.
The blow stunned her, and Caine was in her face before she could clear her thoughts.
Turk came bursting in, his gun leveled. “What’s happening?”
“Penny tripped,” Caine said.
Penny’s freckled face was white with fury.
“Don’t,” Caine warned. He tightened an invisible grip around her head and twisted it back at an impossible angle.
Then Caine released her.
Penny panted and glared. But no nightmare seized Caine’s mind. “You’d better hope Lana can fix that boy, Penny.”
“You’re getting soft.” Penny choked out the words.
“Being king isn’t about being a sick creep,” Caine said. “People need someone in charge. People are sheep and they need a big sheepdog telling them what to do and where to go. But it doesn’t work if you start killing the sheep.”
“You’re scared of Albert.” Penny followed it with a mocking laugh.
“I’m scared of no one,” Caine said. “Least of all you, Penny. You live because I let you live. Remember that. The kids out there?” He waved his hand toward the window, vaguely indicating the population of Perdido Beach. “Those kids out there hate you. You don’t have a single friend. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see you back here in my presence until you’re ready to crawl to me and beg my forgiveness.