“I don’t have a cell,” said Nat, knowing what was coming next.

“Then let’s have a look at your watch.”

Nat was dismayed. The watch had been a birthday present from Gramps Carver. It was an expensive one, and was backlit by a cool blue light. It said in the instructions that it would still work even if you dived to two hundred meters. Nat hadn’t had the chance to try that out yet.

“What are you waiting for, Natalie?” jeered a pimple-faced boy with a dirty Megadeth T-shirt stretched over his pudgy stomach. “Take it off and give it to Tiger.”

Nat realized Pudgy was talking about Teddy Davis; Tiger must be his nickname. He felt the inexplicable need to burst into hysterical guffaws. Tiger! What a joke. He clenched his fists so that his nails cut into the palms of his hands. Oh, no, don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

He took a deep breath. “Get lost, Tiger.”

A strong sense of déjà vu washed over him, almost like the vision he’d had before. But this time, he recognized that the menace in the low rumbling coming from Woody’s throat was for real, his lips lifting away from his teeth — which appeared much longer and sharper than usual — and his eyes flashing gold.

“Or what?” said Teddy coldly, his eyes narrowing. “That dog lays a whisker on me, Natalie, and I’ll make sure it’s put to sleep quicker than you can say Rip Van Winkle.”

Nat knew he would carry out his threat. “Woody, no!” he commanded, taking a firmer grip on Woody’s collar. “Down, boy! Heel!”

Teddy pressed his pale face up to Nat’s.

“I don’t like your face and I don’t like this stupid-looking excuse for a dog,” he hissed. “That ugly mutt’s a freak an’ you’re a right weirdo. Just give me the watch, an’ we’ll call it quits.”

Nat opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would do no good. He undid the watch in silence and handed it to the blond bully. Teddy looked surprised for an instant, but snatched the proffered watch. Then he shoved Nat hard. He fell over and crashed painfully to the ground, ripping his elbow badly on the curb. Woody pulled hard, his hackles up, trying to get at Davis, but Nat kept a tight hold on his collar, despite the pain. Davis looked down at him with contempt.

“Now get out of here.”

Wincing, Nat inspected his damaged elbow; the blood was running freely down his arm in rivulets and splashing onto the ground. He put his arm around Woody’s thick neck and used it as a lever to pull himself up. The gang watched him silently; their earlier high-spirited spitefulness had turned to cold menace.