The Demitroffs lived next door to his grandparents, but Austin could think of no barn, and definitely no fire. However, Austin had been part of this world only in July, and only as a child, so he knew nothing. The town, its gossip and its people were blanks to him. He waited to hear about the fire.

“Vaguely,” said Austin’s grandmother.

Austin was surprised. Nothing in Grandmother’s life was vague. She had been an accountant long before women were accountants, chief financial officer for a precision machine company back when the only thing most women were machining was an apron at the sewing machine.

“What year was that fire?” asked Macey.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Monica Fent. “Ages ago.”

Austin’s grandmother was the type who remembered not only the year, but also the day of the week, and if she had just been to the dentist.

Down on the sand, four men circled the pile of wood. They were shadow against shadow. Their silhouettes looked like Druids, ancient priests setting a sacred fire for a sacrifice. In the shroud of dark, Austin could not tell who they were.

One of them lifted the can of gas, flipped the tiny lid on the spout, and poured gasoline up and around and inside the piled timber. Using a pole with a gas-soaked rag tied on, they held a match to the rag. The javelin of fire was speared into the wood, and the fire went up with a roar like powerboats in a race, and the men backed up fast, their hands out, both warming themselves and holding off the enemy. Fire lit sky and water and sand, and the four stood together, their backs to the shore, and they were like statues, dark and unknown but shiny as metal where the fire bronzed them.

“I’m surprised nobody sees this from across the water and calls the fire department,” said Austin.

“They do,” said Macey. “We have to notify the fire department that we’re having a bonfire, or somebody panics and calls 911, and we get fire trucks.”

“It’s probably more fun with fire trucks,” said Austin.

“But the firemen get all agitated and they’re not your friends anymore,” she said.

He laughed. He’d taken Macey’s shortcuts today, without letting her see, and had been amazed to find that she was doing some serious trespassing. Not only were there signs—DO NOT ENTER, PRIVATE PROPERTY—but twice, Macey had to get over a chain-link fence, and in another place squeeze between strands of barbed wire. It was a whole new view of her.

Mrs. Demitroff wandered over to Austin and Macey.