Nightrise

crowd control, and by now people were lining the sidewalks, five or six rows deep. The local police were patrolling the edge of the street, occasionally barking out orders through their bullhorns — even though there was no need for it and nobody was listening. The atmosphere was lighthearted. It was obvious that everyone in Auburn supported John Trelawny, and if there were any protestors, they had been wise enough to stay away.
    At midday exactly the parade began.
    First up was the local high school marching band, the trumpets and trombones glinting brilliantly, the music blasting out. Among them was a tiny boy with a huge drum and a huge boy with a triangle. Two baton twirlers led the way and they were followed by a drill team — a dozen girls in sparkling silver, going through a series of tightly rehearsed steps. Someone threw a switch and a rap song burst out, fighting with the music from the band. But it didn't matter. The jumble of noise and color was what it was all about.

    Then came the vehicles: open-top Cadillacs and sports cars. The president of the Chamber of Commerce, waving and looking pleased with himself. Miss Auburn and two other beauty queens with their sequins and sashes. A single fire truck with half a dozen firefighters (they got the biggest cheer from the crowd). War veterans, some of them in wheelchairs. Then dozens more children walking behind. Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts. And flag bearers all dressed identically in silver and blue
    — spinning flags over their heads and around their shoulders, perfectly in step.
    As the procession made its way down the hill, two latecomers slipped through the seated dignitaries on the bleachers. One was a middle-aged woman with short, gray hair, a thin neck, and glasses that were slightly too big for her face. The other was a teenaged boy, rather strangely dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, open at the collar. The clothes didn't look right on him, as if someone had chosen them for him against his wishes. The boy was very pale. His eyes were empty. He had no expression on his face at all.
    The woman muttered her apologies as the two of them took their places in their reserved seats. Susan Mortlake and Scott Tyler had arrived. Now they sat and waited for the man they had come to kill.

    ***
    "We're not going to make it," Jamie said.
    "This car won't go any faster," Alicia muttered. "I'm doing the best I can…"
    But it was already twelve fifteen and although they had seen signs for Auburn along Highway 80, the town refused to come into sight. There were three of them in the car. Jamie was next to Alicia. Daniel was sitting in the back, leaning over them both.
    Jamie hadn't been able to explain how he had worked it out but he knew, with cold certainty, that he was right. He had seen photographs of Charles Baker when he was in the Nightrise offices in Los Angeles and Senator Trelawny had explained how the corporation was bankrolling his rival's campaign. Perhaps this was why they had wanted Scott and Jamie in the first place. Scott could order Trelawny to throw himself under a car. He could tell him to stop breathing and the senator would suffocate then and there.
    The two boys had always tried to keep their powers hidden. They had learned, from bitter experience, what they were capable of. If Scott had been turned into a weapon, he would be unstoppable, Scott. That was the other thought racing through Jamie's mind. Of course he wanted to save the senator's life. But if they got to Auburn in time, he would see his brother again, and that mattered to him more.
    "We're here!" Alicia spoke the words and a moment later veered off the highway, taking an exit that sloped up to abridge and over to the other side. As they turned, Jamie saw the statue of Claude Chana crouching underneath him. Was this really the same figure that had haunted him, repeatedly, in his dreams? There could be no doubt of it. The statue might look harmless now. It wasn't a giant or a monster. But somehow it had been sent to bring him a warning. Jamie glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Twenty-five past twelve! He wondered if he was already too late.
    They reached the other side of the bridge. Now Jamie saw some of the crowd spilling over the sidewalks and heard the music of the marching band. There was a policeman ahead of them, signaling them to move forward. But that was the wrong way. The road would lead them past the courthouse and up to the new town. Alicia needed to