EMERY MERRILL EMERSON.

1880-1969

It seemed especially cruel to Gabriel that she should suffer such deception, even in this. The angel wondered, yet again, why the old man had chosen to perpetrate such a seemingly senseless fraud on his own daughter. How much better might both Miriam and her son have come through all of this, Gabe thought, had her father simply been there to turn to. The old wizard's untimely pretense made so little sense. Then again, when had the motives of wizards ever made sense, even to angels?

Miriam sat down, leaning against the headstone, folded her arms as if against a chill, and, haltingly, started speaking to her father about how terribly she longed to repair her marriage and how unequal she felt to raising her son alone.

Perched on a small bouquet of daisies not fifteen feet away, Gabriel listened, slowly opening and closing his wings in the sunlight, and wishing with all his heart that he could do something. He had never understood why the Creator had agreed to such a one-sided set of rules for this wager. Especially this wager!

Filled with frustration, Gabriel realized that, strictly speaking, his Lord had only forbade him to help Joby uninvited, not those around him. Surely one fleeting bit of comfort for Miriam wouldn't constitute any real breach of the Creator's command.

He fluttered up to land unnoticed on Miriam's shoulder, and sent his faith in the Creator and his own care for Miriam into both her mind and body, then watched her careworn face relax, her eyes close, her hand reach back to stroke the polished surface of the headstone. As Gabriel fluttered away across the cemetery lawn, her face softened in a smile, as rare these days as it was lovely.

While Rebecca was still off in the bathroom with her girlfriends, doing God knew what, Ben began his second circuit around the pool deck, sipping at his drink, nodding at the occasional familiar face, bobbing his head to the music, and trying to look something other than bored. Pete Blackwell's Summer Kick-Off party was Hawaiian-themed, but the thought of donning some loud flowered shirt had made Ben feel like a corny lounge singer, so he'd opted for plain beach casual, and a simple onyx stud in his left ear. A year ago, he'd have given not a single thought to what he wore, but within days of their first date, it had become clear that if he didn't fuss over his appearance, Rebecca would, and while Ben liked some parts of her attention quite a lot, that kind wasn't one of them.

A burst of catcalls and laughter from behind him made Ben turn in time to see Kevin Branscom holding Laura's upper arms from behind, amusing his buddies by pretending he was going to push her into the pool, only to pull her back from the edge as she tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

"Saved yer life!" Kevin grinned, turning her around to face him. "You owe me now, girl. Come on. You know what I want," he burbled, as if addressing a toddler while he puckered up and leaned in for a kiss.

To Kevin's obvious displeasure, Laura twisted away before his visibly greasy lips found any purchase. "Try asking again," she said with an almost unforced laugh, "when you've wiped that big string of cheese off your chin, Kevin." Kevin's friends clearly found her gambit even more entertaining than his, which didn't please Kevin. Letting go of her to reach up and wipe his face, he found the long string of cheese left there from nachos he'd been wolfing down a moment earlier. Looking first at it, then at her, as if the disgusting artifact were entirely her fault somehow, he huffed, "Whatever," and waved her away as if she'd just blown the opportunity of a lifetime.

Ben tried pretty hard not to judge people, but for all Kevin's ability on the field and reputation as a hunk, no matter how Ben sliced it, Kevin Branscom was just an inexcusable jerk. Ben never understood what someone as sharp as Laura was doing in his clutches to begin with, much less why she'd stayed this long. For all his own reputation around school as a ladies' man, girls were as mystifying to Ben now as they'd been when he was ten.

As Laura seized the opportunity to escape Kevin's presence for a more secluded corner of the yard, Ben followed, and sat down beside her on a bench beyond the light of Pete's tiki torches.

"How ya doin'?" he asked casually.

"I'm tired," she said, and sounded it.

"Good," Ben said, looking back toward the crowd of partyers around the pool. "Does that mean you're finally dumping meathead? Like, tonight, I hope?"

"I've been meaning to for months," she conceded without objection, or even attitude. "I don't know why I haven't."

"Me neither," Ben said, still not looking at her for fear of seeming too interested and shutting her down. "You could have anyone at school you wanted, Laura. He's not even close to worthy of you."

"You offering?" she asked, almost defiantly.

Ben turned to her in surprise. "I'm with Rebecca," he said, before he could check himself.

"Who's about as worthy of you as Kevin is of me," Laura said, still sounding as if this were some kind of dare.

"Yeah, okay. You got me," Ben said, looking down into his glass of cola, and wondering how much she'd seen before he'd recovered his composure.

"It's probably not my place to say it, Ben-especially right now-but you really ought to hear the way she talks about you when you're not around. She's probably off with her little fan club right now, parading every detail of your sexual exploits together."

"Our what?" Ben said, whirling to face her.

Laura studied him for a moment in the dim light, then nodded. "I didn't think so," she said, managing to sound both satisfied and apologetic at the same time.

"Well," Ben said, grinning in embarrassment, hoping the light was too dim for her to see him blush, "I guess she's got appearances to think about." He shrugged ruefully, still grinning. "Probably hasn't done my rep any harm either. Maybe I should get her some kind of little thank-you gift."

"I'm sorry, Ben," Laura said, laying a hand gently on his arm. "I knew she was lying. Really."

"Yeah," Ben sighed, "well, I guess while we're bein' all honest like this, I should admit that it's not like I haven't come plenty close a few times-like, every other day." He shook his head. "The thing is, I just can't ever figure out what I'm gonna say to her afterward. 'I love you. No wait, that's a lie'? What we have is fun enough, Laura, but I just can't see going any further until I have some plan I can at least pretend to believe in about the 'ever after' part." He looked up at Laura's shadowed face, realizing how much he trusted her, and, in contrast, how little he had ever trusted Rebecca. So little, in fact, that he really wasn't that disappointed, or even surprised, by what Laura had told him. "I'd never risk saying this to anyone but you, Laura, but I think I'm going to wait until I've found someone I really love, or at least really think I love."

"So," she said, almost timidly, after a lengthy pause. "That brings us back to my question. If not Kevin and Rebecca, who?"

Ben looked away, aching to keep on being as honest as they'd suddenly become for just one more moment. But, as with Rebecca, he couldn't quite kid himself into dismissing what he knew was true-even in pursuit of what he wanted.

"I'd leave Rebecca for you in a heartbeat, Laura," he said soberly, "if I really thought your heart wasn't already spoken for." He turned to look her in the eye again. "Just tell me you're all done waiting for Joby, and I'll go put Rebecca's hand in Kevin's right this minute." He looked back into the crowd around the pool. "Hell. She'd probably go for it without a thought. Kevin's car's more tricked-out than mine. And Kevin's the senior varsity quarterback. Rebecca won't mind tradin' up." He looked back at Laura. "So, are you offerin', Ms. Bayer? . . . Cross your heart and swear on Arthur's sacred sword?"

To his horror, Ben realized that Laura was crying.

"Oh my God," he whispered, pulling her into his arms without thinking. "What is it? What's wrong? Did I do this? I didn't mean to."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "What if Joby never gets it?" she whispered back, her voice trembling as she cried. "Am I just supposed to wait forever? It's like you could hit him with a shovel, and he wouldn't even notice."

Ignoring the pang of disappointment he felt at hearing what he'd always known confirmed, Ben just said, "Have you tried?"

"What!" she said, hiccupping a laugh, and disentangling herself from his embrace with a quick glance around them to see who might be looking. "You mean really hit him with a shovel?" She laughed again, wiping at her eyes. "Well, no. I'm not sure that would really work so well."

"Sometimes, that's exactly what guys like Joby need," Ben said. "As usual, you're way ahead of us all, Laura. I haven't got a clue who my real match is, and Joby hasn't got a clue about, well, much of anything. But you've known what your heart wants for years. He's a dense son of a bitch, but he's like a brother to me, and, pitiful as it is to say, I think you'd better stop waiting for him to step up to bat, and just make the things you want happen. If that takes a shovel, it'd give me more satisfaction than you know to lend you ours from home. It's pretty big," he added with a lopsided grin. "Oughta hurt enough to make even Joby notice."

Mentally rehearsing her lines, Laura rang the bell and waited. Taking Ben's advice, she had decided to throw pride to the wind and take the direct approach. She heard footsteps on the hardwood inside, and braced herself as Joby opened the door.

"Laura! . . . What are you doing here?"

"Was I supposed to make an appointment?" So much for her lines.

"No!" Joby apologized. "I didn't . . . I just meant, well, you know. School's out and all, so I just didn't expect . . ."

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She decided she'd better just get on with it before things got worse.

"Diane Kelty invited me to her pool party next Saturday. I was wondering if you would go with me."

Joby looked startled. "What about Kevin?"

"Kevin and I aren't together anymore."

"Why not?" Joby asked, looking concerned.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Joby. Will you go with me or not?" This wasn't going at all like she'd hoped.

"Well . . . sure," he said, sounding dazed. "I mean, I should ask my mom, I guess. You wanna come in for a minute?"

She nodded, and stepped inside as Joby jogged off to get his mother. Something smelled wonderful. She looked around the entranceway, wondering why Joby needed permission to attend a daytime party.

"Hello, Laura!" Mrs. Peterson smiled as she came from the kitchen. "It's been such a long time! Can you come in for a minute? I've just finished a batch of cookies. I'd love to catch up on what you've been doing!"

"Thanks," Laura said. "I'd be crazy to turn down anything that smells that good."

Mrs. Peterson looked pleased as she led Laura and her son toward the living room, where a plate of M&M oatmeal cookies was already laid out on the coffee table.

"Have a seat," Mrs. Peterson offered, settling onto the couch.

Laura sat down beside her, while Joby sat across the room in a rocking chair by the fireplace.

"Joby says you've invited him to a party," Mrs. Peterson said, handing her a cookie. "That's very nice of you. Where's it going to be?"

"It's a pool party at Diane Kelty's house. She lives up on Viewline Drive."

"Oh! That's a very nice neighborhood, isn't it," Mrs. Peterson said brightly. "I'll bet they have a lovely home! What time will it be over?"

"It's an afternoon barbecue," Laura said. "It'll be over before dinner."

"So, it won't go after dark?" Mrs. Peterson pressed.

Laura shook her head. No wonder Joby still looked so young. His mother had probably forbidden him to age. "I have other plans that evening, so I won't be staying even if it does. I'll have Joby back by five thirty at the latest."

"Oh! You're driving now?" Mrs. Peterson said, sounding astonished.

"No. But I will be by the time school starts. My parents are really tired of having to drive me around all the time," Laura said, thinking, Hint, hint. "My mom can take us to the party though, and bring us back."

"Well." Mrs. Peterson smiled. "It sounds like lots of fun, Laura." She turned to Joby. "It's fine with me, dear."

Joby smiled with what seemed relief. "When should I be ready?" he asked Laura.

"We'll pick you up at noon," she answered, suddenly afraid of saying something stupid and blowing the whole deal. "I hate to eat and run, Mrs. Peterson. The cookies are great, but I have to get my hair cut, and I'm walking, so I'd better go."

"Oh, that's all right," Mrs. Peterson said warmly.

Laura stood and looked at Joby. "I'll see you on Saturday."

"Okay. Should I bring some food or anything?"

"Just a beach towel," Laura flashed him a flirtatious smile, "and plenty of suntan lotion."

Joby looked surprised, then a little flushed, and Laura turned to go, reassured to see that maybe he was not completely dense.

"Well, why not?" Lucifer demanded. "It's been over two years, and he still looks like a choirboy!"

"We've tampered about as much as we can without killing him," Kallaystra protested. "He just doesn't age any faster. What are we supposed to do, put him on the rack and stretch him?"

"Don't be obstinate with me," Lucifer warned humorlessly.

"My heartfelt apologies, Bright One," she said in flawless imitation of contrition. "It is just that I share your frustration. I begin to wonder, as you did from the start, whether his condition indicates some new threat to our campaign."

"Oh, mark my words," Lucifer said with unconcealed rancor, "the Enemy is behind this in some way. This boy was not chosen for being unremarkable. The question we seem still to have failed at answering is, 'Remarkable in just how many ways?' "

For a moment, Lucifer simply paced his office, massaging his temples. Then he said, "For now, we'll do the best we can with what little you've achieved. Tell the Triangle to dispense with all his physical handicaps. Perhaps if he discovers sports again he will at least put on some muscle tone."

"Might that not revive his self-esteem as well?" Kallaystra dared hazard.

For the first time during their meeting, Lucifer chuckled. "Not if our esteemed counselor has done his job. If, after all these years of conditioning, Joby retains any capacity to see beauty in his own form, I'll have your friend Malcephalon's hide for it. Feel free to tell him I said so, should you feel inclined."

"I think that's it then," Father Richter said. "Thank you for your help, Joby."

"No problem," Joby replied, looking around, hoping they'd overlooked something. He'd stayed to help clean up after the youth group meeting because there was something he needed to discuss with the priest, but he still hadn't quite worked up the courage to begin. "Can I help you carry those back to the priory?" Joby asked, reaching for the small stack of songbooks tucked between Father Richter's folded arms.

"I'm not that old yet," Father Richter said. His smile became concerned. "Is something the matter, Joby?"

Joby looked up and opened his mouth, but no words were in it.

"I've plenty of time, if there's something on your mind," the priest insisted. "Why don't we walk back to the priory?"

Joby and Laura had been "together" for over a month. He could still hardly believe that she was dating him instead of Kevin Branscom, or that Kevin hadn't beaten him to a pulp over it, though he'd heard that Kevin was already dating a cheerleader named Cherryl Bassetti. Nonetheless, Joby's inexplicable good fortune had not arrived without its catches.

Whatever his classmates thought, Joby's body had awakened long ago to the possibilities of sex just like everyone else's. The dreams, the sensations, the private experiments; Joby had greeted them all with enthusiastic if carefully concealed curiosity at first. Then, lying in bed one morning two summers back, enjoying the afterglow of one of those still very novel "test runs," the memory of Father Morgan's words during Joby's first trip to St. Albee's Church years before had suddenly returned to him from nowhere.

He denied himself even a simple piece of bread, lest the devil use even that little weakness to gain power over him.

Joby had gone still as stone, then weak as water as the rest of Father Morgan's words had come rushing back as if whispered in his ear.

To be faithful at all, you must be absolutely faithful. Nothing less will do. If you truly want to beat the devil, you must be prepared to deny any hunger he might use to breach your defenses.

The trap had closed around him with an almost electric shock. Unable to wash his guilt away in the shower, Joby's dread had grown worse and worse until, mastering his shame, he'd gone to ask Father Richter if what he'd been doing was wrong.

Despite Father Richter's obvious effort to be gentle, he had made it clear that Joby must bridle such "impure thoughts and actions" at any cost. Joby had not needed to ask what that really meant. God might leave him, just as Arthur had . . . as his father had. Though Father Richter had assured him that the sacrament of confession would cleanse him of any sin, even this one, Joby hadn't been about to risk God's friendship on cheap rationalizations. From that moment forward, he had promised God that he would utterly renounce, until marriage, the impure thoughts and deeds that had almost cost him his heart's deepest desire-the chance to be God's knight. That goal had proven excruciatingly difficult, but in time, he had learned to keep both impure desires and acts utterly at bay-even in dreams-until now.

Laura had a way of looking at Joby when they were together, of leaning too near, or brushing against him in passing, that had quickly reawakened everything Joby had worked so hard to put to sleep. He had begun to dream of her; wonderful, terrible dreams that he could no longer control, often culminating in the very pleasures he had fought so hard for so long to refuse. He was glad to have a girlfriend at last, very glad that it was Laura, and, frankly, deeply relieved to have an answer, finally, to the humiliating rumors he'd always known were traded about him behind his back. But he could not risk losing the battle he had waged so fiercely for so long, not even for Laura.

"Well, Joby," Father Richter said when they were settled alone in the priory's sun porch, "what's got my favorite pupil in such a turmoil?"

"Father," Joby said, "I'm having trouble with . . . with impure thoughts."

"Ah," the priest said. "Is that all? You had me worried for a moment. I trust you are repelling them?"

"Father? Is it a sin if . . . if it happens in dreams?"

"Of course not, Joby. God holds none of us accountable for what we cannot control." He smiled. "But our dreams are less likely to move in such directions if we are careful to keep our minds pure during the day. Are you doing that?"