Boys of Blur by N. D. Wilson

month.”
    “Empty …,” Charlie said.
    “Burned. Dead,” said Mrs. Wisdom. “Devoured. If Lionel had not saved the body of my Willie, it would be done already. The stone would have been shattered and my Willie would be one of the Gren. But he’s safe now, even if we are not.” She pointed straight down at the water. Charlie watched the drops pucker the surface. He watched slow rings grow and collide with each other, and then his eyes focused beyond the surface. A long stone box sat in the tree roots on the bottom, its lid looking almost within reach. Even through the rippling distortion, Charlie could see two letters carved side by side on the lid.

    “So much life in my Mr. Wisdom.” Mrs. Wisdom dabbed her eyes, laughed, and then slid her arm around Charlie’s shoulders and pulled him into a soft hug. “Do you mind,doll?” she asked. “I’m sorry, if an old lady needs a hug, she takes a hug.” She retreated back to her chair. “Now drink that tea and tell me what else you want to know.”
    Charlie’s eyes were still focused underwater. Beyond the old coach’s box, there was another, and another—ghostly rectangles hiding under the rippling surface.
    Mrs. Wisdom nodded. “Every graveyard for miles around is empty of its dead. The Gren would take them to a grove where their mother plants bodies and harvests muck-born sons. My Willie stole them first and gave them peace in the water. Water keeps them out of reach.”
    “I want to go home,” Charlie suddenly said. “Please.”
    “Home,” said Mrs. Wisdom. “Soon, love. But not just yet.”
    Charlie turned around. “Why not?”
    Mrs. Wisdom nodded at the mug in Charlie’s hands.
    “It’ll be cold now, honey.”
    Charlie raised his mug and gulped the entire drink down. It wasn’t cold at all. It was hot and sweet and nearly scorched his throat. When he’d finished, there was a heat in his gut so heavy he felt like he’d swallowed the mug itself. He exhaled and was almost surprised not to see steam.
    “Why not?” he asked again. “How long have I been here?”
    “Three days,” Mrs. Wisdom said. Her blue eyes grew heavy. “You can’t go home, doll, because this is the only place in the world where you are still alive.”

Natalie Mack paced in front of a wall of glass. One arm hugged a ragged gray sweatshirt to her chest. Her other hand pulled at a row of absurdly large championship rings hanging on a simple silver chain around her neck. She fingered through them like beads as she walked along beside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows in the beach house Mack had rented. She knew why she was holding Charlie’s sweatshirt. She wasn’t sure why she had put on Mack’s rings. Because she wanted to trust him?
    No game he had ever played mattered as much as what he was trying to do right now.
    Outside the glass, rain was attacking an uncovered pool and pelting scattered deck chairs. Beyond the pool, palm trees swayed and bent in the wind like ferns on fishing poles. Beyond them, the Gulf of Mexico thumped on sand.
    Natalie forced her pacing feet to stop. She couldn’t stop her pacing mind.
    One hour. A lot less given how she would be driving. That’s how far away she was if the call came. And it would come. Mack would call. He would hand Charlie the phone. She would hear her son’s voice and then she would load Molly into the car and they would fly through the rain.
    Even as she thought it, she knew it wouldn’t happen that way. If Charlie was fine, Mack would bring him to her. Taper wasn’t safe right now. It was like the whole town had unhinged all at once. Every old grudge had blossomed into a feud. Every old feud had exploded into violence. She couldn’t be there with Molly. Her first two nights had proved that completely. She’d heard the gunfire and seen two buildings burning from their motel room. While Molly had slept, she’d stood looking out at the midnight fires. And she had seen
him
—Bobby Reynolds, Charlie’s