The sound was like the low of the great mother cow in the origin myths of several primitive religions, complaining because she needed milking. Then the zinc wind chimes started. New ghosts formed all round. I saw bland shimmering pillars but, obviously, they presented intimate detail to everyone else.

One Hill type murmured, ‘‘Oh, excellent!’’

The music grew loud enough to rattle skulls. As more ghosts materialized.

And the place began heating up.

All of which thrilled the Hill pack.

Belle Chimes made a swift departure while Link Dierber and Schnook Avery were distracted. Quick as he went, though, he came close to getting trampled by Luther and his crew. Not to mention Bobbi, Lindy, and Alyx.

I made hand gestures advising Tinnie to keep up with her friends. She replied, ‘‘You don’t get shut of me that easily, Malsquando.’’ She glared at my hazel-eyed friend. She was shaking all over but she meant to stand her ground.

Sometimes the girl doesn’t have sense enough to add up to a penny.

Heather kept stalking ghosts.

That great planetary bray sounded again as she skewered another apparition. The zinc xylophone hammered out an even louder, more energetic tune. There was a tremor in the earth.

Dust and dirt fell again. There must be an infinite supply. Maybe there’s universal continuous creation when it comes to dirt and dust.

The wonder folk from the Hill commenced to begin to fix to get ready to start considering the possibility that they ought to get the hell out because none of them had a clue about how to stop the racket. Several, like Schnook Avery and his good buddy, definitely decided that the wisest sorcerer would contemplate future events from outside the World.

Where they got distracted by a row over who had lost track of the Bellman.

Then there were just four of us left inside. Me, Furious Tide of Light, loony Heather, and Tinnie Tate. Tinnie was not going to leave me unchaperoned, be the final trumps of doom themselves a-braying.

Which she paid for in good old-fashioned wet-your-pants terror.

I was having no courage crisis. I was too damned dim to be scared.

Furious Tide of Light snapped, ‘‘Stop that woman!’’ Meaning Heather. Her eyes rolled up. She went away somewhere, the way her sort sometimes do.

‘‘Tinnie. Help me get Heather out of here.’’

Green eyes big, freckles standing out against skin gone dead white, Tinnie got herself going. My gal. Never panics. She had enough clever still engaged to get in Heather’s way while I sneaked up behind.

I held on tight and managed not to lose focus because of the hottie wiggling. Tinnie pried the hat pin loose, flung it through the doorway. All the while snarling, ‘‘What in thehell were youdoing, telling these people that I’m yourfiancйe ?’’

Uh-oh.

Did I do that?

‘‘I don’t remem . . .’’

My survival instincts kicked in.

I was caught in a cleft stick. Nothing I said would be the right answer. And silence would be a loser, too. Again.

‘‘Ow!’’ I let go of Manvil’s favorite niece. ‘‘She stomped on my foot!’’

‘‘Which is what you’re supposed to do when a bad guy grabs you, Malsquando.’’ She stayed put.

To do anything, stupid or otherwise, Heather had to go through Tinnie first.

Oh, I’m so clever! Oh, I’m so smart! That saved me having to answer for minutes and minutes.

Heather was in no mood to be moved. Or subdued.

The two of us had just enough push to get the job done.

I helped herd Heather through the doorway, gave Tinnie an encouraging swat on the behind, then went back to give the Windwalker a hand.

Not quite the same hand. Though it was a cruel strain, keeping my favorite pair to myself. With her magic engaged that beanpole radiated sexual compulsion more potently than the wildest elfin girl. And elf girls are the lodestars of sex. They define the irresistible, compulsive attraction. In fact, the Windwalker so resembled an elfin woman that I was sure elf sap ran in her family tree. Not far back, either.

The ghosts were all over her now, tight as a gang of constrictors. And that didn’t bother her.

I guess she knew they weren’t dangerous.

To her.

Curious.

Furious Tide of Light had no guilt. Or understood the ghosts so well that she wasn’t vulnerable.

I fought an urge to throw her down and make her squeal. I did go grab hold and begin tugging her toward the exit. Gently.

The ghosts felt the same attraction, I suppose. And they didn’t need to show any self-control.

‘‘Whoa! Hey!’’

The Windwalker had begun making little noises. Suspiciously sensual sounding. While the zinc racket took on an urgent rhythm.

Then silence as we reached the doorway.

The Windwalker collapsed.

Outside, in a voice loud enough to be heard for blocks, Tinnie said, ‘‘You still got some explaining to do, Malsquando!’’

Next thing I heard was ‘‘Mom? Are you all right? What happened?’’

And, right there, right in front of me, closer than the stormy-browed pyrotechnical redhead, were most of my least favorite teenagers. The backbone of the Faction, including Kevans and Kip Prose. I couldn’t tell immediately which of the others were connected with the visitors.

Excitement across the street told me that the escape of the Bellman rated beside the end of the world with Link Dierber, who showed no interest in the kids at all. Schnook Avery, on the other hand, wasn’t much invested. He was talking to the kid they called Slump.

Somebody mentioned Felhske in conjunction with a failure to locate the Bellman. But that sounded like something that had happened years ago.

Odd juxtapositions arise because people with special skills are so uncommon. I needed an under the table necromancer? How many were there likely to be? Why would he be in hiding? Given his calling, Belle’s reason would be a desire not to be found by someone off the Hill. So this would be a less fierce coincidence than it appeared at first glance.

I wondered what Belle had done to make Link Dierber go all bubbly when they ran into one another again.

What would Deal Relway think? Might be interesting to find that out, too.

Relway was likely to know the real story.

‘‘Young Mr. Prose. So not good to see you. Your timing is impeccably awful. See the freaks squabbling over there? You do? You know them? Kevans’ mom brought them. To see what the Faction accomplished here.’’

Kip Prose had been through a previous quarrel with smack-you-in-the-mouth reality, as a more central player. He had one set of toes stained by a dip into the real world. He knew he wasn’t invulnerable, immortal, or immune from the humors of beasts like Link Dierber, Schnook Avery, and whoever the rest of those people were.

Meanwhile, Kevans whined because somebody had gotten into their clubhouse and wrecked it. She had no idea of the real situation. None of the youngsters understood the impact they had had because of what they had been doing. They were playing around. The world saw the foundations of civilization shifting.

And everybody exaggerated.

‘‘Kip, go inside, cut through, go out one of the back doors, then haul ass to my house. Take your friends. Stay there till the grown-ups sort things out.’’

‘‘I can’t. . . . I have a date with Kyra to go three-wheeling.’’

‘‘Kip! Kid. You aren’t listening. Look over there. With Slump. Those two doing all the fussing. The stubby one is Link Dierber. Even you have to know that name. The long, tall mortician is Schnook Avery.’’ That pair were famous for their devotion to torture, to cruelty as personal amusement. They used their real names and didn’t care if everyone knew them. They considered themselves their own law.