"Joby?" she breathed, reaching for his hand.

He could not remember leaving the room, nor fleeing down the stairs past Seth, as he must have done. He vaguely noticed laughter as he bolted through the front door, fumbled in the near dark with the lock on his bike, and ran with it out into the street. Only after a car screeched around him, blaring its horn in protest, did Joby come fully to his senses. He mounted his bike and rode away as fast as he could, his body still burning with the need for release, resigned to the certainty that he had narrowly escaped one sin only to embrace another when he got home. He could only hope that God would understand.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," the boy's voice came mournfully from beyond the screen. "It's been three weeks since my last confession."

Though a pretense of anonymity was germane to the sacrament, Father Richter could hardly fail to recognize Joby's voice, any more than Joby would fail to know his.

Hearing the boy's account of the previous evening's excesses, the intensity of his desire to sin, and the remedy to that desire he had been unable to avoid later, the priest's alarm steadily increased. The angel had emphatically warned him that sexual impurity posed the greatest threat to Joby's spiritual destiny, and thus to Father Richter's own ambitions as well. He had worked too hard and brought Joby too far toward holiness to see it all undone now by mundane adolescent urges.

"My son," Father Richter said, steeling himself for greater severity than he had ever shown Joby before, "I must be clear. The wages of sin is death. Our Lord taught that it would be better to sacrifice any part of our bodies and enter Heaven crippled, than to be cast whole into the fires of Hell. Is any passing pleasure really worth the loss of your soul? God called Abraham to sacrifice his own son. Next to that, how difficult is the small sacrifice of flesh that God asks of you?"

Of course, God had spared Abraham that sacrifice at the last moment, but Father Richter had no intention of weakening the boy's resolve by including that point. Given the raging storm of hormones any boy of Joby's age endured, it was unlikely enough that Joby's virginity would last much longer. Why give the devil any extra help?

"You say this young temptress was a stranger?" Richter asked.

"Yes," Joby whispered.

The anguish in that whisper nearly broke Richter's heart, but he knew there was no room for sentiment here and asked God for strength. "Have you a girlfriend?" he asked, knowing the answer, of course. "Someone you truly care about?"

"Yes," Joby murmured forlornly.

"Do you realize," Father Richter pressed, "that it was not merely God you wished to betray last night, but this girl you love, as well?"

There was an even longer silence. "Yes," Joby said at last, sounding on the edge of tears.

"It is good that you do," Father Richter said, suddenly feeling terribly weary. "Have you other sins to confess?"

"No, Father," Joby murmured.

"Then I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit," Father Richter said. "For your penance, I want you to prove your worthiness of God's love by devoting yourself to loving the girlfriend you speak of without any lust whatsoever, and valuing her spiritual welfare as well as your own at all times, lest you subject her to an ordeal like that which you, yourself, have suffered. Do you understand me, my son?"

"Yes, Father," Joby said with audible resolve. "I will never be unworthy of God or her again. . . . I promise."

"Then go with God's forgiveness, and sin no more," Father Richter said, and slid the panel shut between them.

10.

( Too Late ) As they walked, hand in hand, toward her front door, Laura smiled at Joby and leaned up to kiss his cheek, eliciting a smile twin to her own. The evening had been everything she'd hoped her senior prom might be. She'd been the envy of every girl there, dancing in the arms of their class valedictorian, so tall and handsome in his black satin tux. During their senior year Joby had finally become taller and better looking than Laura thought Kevin Branscom had any hope of being. Seeing even her lascivious friend, Karen Tyler, cast covetous glances at Joby that evening, Laura had barely restrained herself from drifting over to murmur, "Not bad-for a twelve-year-old-is he, dahling!"

As it happened, Laura's parents were gone for the entire week. By some miracle, they'd won a cruise trip in some contest they couldn't even recall entering. With the house all to herself, Laura had decided earlier that evening that the time had come to do Joby, and herself, one last, huge favor before graduation forced them to part.

For two years now, Joby had been sweeter and more sensitive than any boy she'd ever known, even Benjamin. He'd carved tremendous amounts of time from his frenetic schedule to spend with her. He had always listened when she wanted to talk, seeming both to care and understand. He was always surprising her with small insights, little gifts, and kind gestures. He had become a very good dancer, once she'd convinced him to try. And yet, there was still a part of him Laura had never gotten within shouting distance of.

From the very beginning, Joby had kept everything between them so terribly chaste. He kissed her often, but only as storybook princes kissed; lips warm and soft but barely open; embracing her with grace but never real passion. As he'd grown taller and more beautiful, she had hoped this would change, but it never had, though the passion missing in his kisses was more than evident in his eyes and voice. In the fall, Laura would leave for Brown in Rhode Island, while Joby went to Berkeley. But Laura had grown more determined than ever to have him completely, if briefly, at least once before she had to let him go.

At the door, she turned, and Joby kissed her as sweetly, and as inaccessibly, as ever.

"It was wonderful, Joby," she said when he leaned away. "I wish it wouldn't end." She smiled plaintively, taking his hands in her own. "I'm not ready for it to end yet. Come in and keep me company for a while. . . . Please?"

Kallaystra stood gazing down on the pretty couple, sleeping peacefully in each other's arms, naked but for the girl's covers wound about them. In one way at least, the unfortunate girl was not deluded: Joby really had become a very beautiful young man. Looking at him now, Kallaystra even felt some small regret at having failed to seduce him herself at that party two years earlier.

Steering the girl through this seduction had been child's play. It was never difficult to compel such creatures toward what they so deeply wanted to begin with, though the child might recall some of her tactics this evening with great discomfort in the morning. Winning past the boy's defenses, however, had required a subtle skill and surgical precision that left Kallaystra once again in awe of Malcephalon's abilities.

Her part in this finished, Kallaystra took one last appreciative look at Joby, and murmured, "I hope you enjoyed your meal, pretty lad." She glanced at Malcephalon, looming in the shadows beyond their bed, and quipped, "Here comes your waiter with the check."

Joby woke in darkness without opening his eyes, still clinging to the most deliciously sinful dream he'd ever had. Thankful that God didn't hold him accountable for dreams, he opened his eyes and began to stretch. As the muzzy confusion of sleep suddenly receded, however, two things became apparent. He was in a room he did not recognize, and he was naked, though he never slept naked.

With a jolt, he sat up and turned to find Laura lying beside him, as naked as he.

Oh God! he thought, immobilized by shock. What have I-How could we- His mind raced backward, scrambling for explanations, but everything was fuzzy and disjointed. For an instant, he even wondered if Laura had slipped him something somehow, then shoved the idea furiously away. Slowly, it all started coming back. There had been . . . an argument, about why he wouldn't ever touch her, why he wouldn't even look at her as she . . . as she had let her dress slide to the floor.

He shook his head in denial.

"You think I'm ugly, don't you," she had wept. "You must despise me!"

She couldn't have done that. She would never have . . .

He half-remembered his own urgent denials, his attempts to explain, his need to stop her tears, to comfort her, to hold her, the warmth of her through his clothing, the dampness of her tears on his face and neck as she clung to him. The elusive sense of manhood he had always longed for and never found within himself; the chance to be everything he'd ever seen in Benjamin; an answer to his father's shame; an end to the terrible gaping hole that had haunted his wounded, empty heart for so many years; every physical pleasure Joby had ever denied himself and hungered for; all this had suddenly been his-to seize or lose forever.

Despite the darkness, Joby covered his eyes, desperate to avert the memories even as he felt himself stiffening with new desire. Shame and dread leapt up inside him with explosive intensity. He had used Laura terribly, betrayed her love completely, broken every vow he'd ever made to God, ignored every warning Father Richter had ever given him! Yet, on the very heels of such horrendous treason, he ached to wake Laura and do it all again!

As stealthily as panic allowed, Joby slipped from bed and began to pull his clothes on. Laura drew a sudden breath and turned beneath the covers. Grabbing the rest of his things, Joby ran from the room before she could awaken and confront him. Fumbling for his car keys, he dashed from her house in his pants and shirt, tossing the rest of his clothes into his mother's car, then jumping behind the wheel to start the engine. As he lurched from the curb he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Laura's pale form, robed now, sway onto the porch, illuminated in the green glow of street lamps. There was just time to see the dismay on her face before he gunned the engine and sped away.

By the time he got home, the first gray smudge of dawn had cut distant hills from the sky like paper silhouettes. There was no way to change what he had done, nor any way to live with it, so he had just retreated altogether into numb denial. He dragged his shoes, socks, tie, and coat from the backseat, shuffled up the walk, and opened the front door to find his mother standing there in her nightgown.

"Where have you been?" she asked, sounding torn between fear and fury.

"Out," Joby said, his gaze falling to the hardwood floor in shame at his half-dressed state, a virtual confession.

"Out where?" she demanded.

"Just out," Joby said without looking up. Then memory of his father's departure hit him like a pile driver; his parents' fight, their final words: Out.

Out where?

Unable to endure it, he pushed past her and walked woodenly toward his room.

"Come back here!" she snapped. "Don't you dare walk out on me that way!"

Oh God, the very words!

Some barrier inside him shattered, and he ran for his room, gasping animal cries of misery. Behind him, his mother's silence suddenly seemed more filled with fear than anger.

Joby flushed the toilet and finished tucking in his shirt just as the second bell rang. One more class, he thought dully, and he could flee all these people. He didn't know where he would go. Not home certainly. He had spent the weekend locked in his room, despite his mother's pleas that he come out and tell her what was happening. Maybe he would just wander all night. If he was lucky, he thought, he would simply lose his mind soon, and forget himself entirely.

He pushed the stall door open, and found Jamie Lindwald standing in his way.

"Joby, what's up?" Jamie demanded.

"I'm late for class." He tried to walk past, but Jamie stepped into his path again.

"I been watchin' you all day, Joby. What the hell is wrong?"

"Nothing, Jamie," Joby mumbled. "Please get out of my way."

"Not 'til you tell me what's goin' on," Jamie insisted. "You look awful."

Joby began to feel angry. Since that party two years before, their friendship had been tenuous at best. So why the hell should Jamie suddenly be so concerned now?

"Jamie, I don't wanna talk right now-to anyone, okay? Just let me go to class."

"You know your problem?" Jamie said. "You always gotta be the hero-always givin', never takin'. You were the first person in my whole life who ever tried to be my friend, Joby, but I don't get to be yours now, do I. I just get to feel grateful. 'S that it?"

"Jamie!" Joby snarled. "My whole life is fucked! You can't begin to imagine what a fuckup I am! So take your hero shit, and ram it up your nose, 'cause you never came close to fuckin' up like me!"

"Whadaya think?" Jamie pressed. "I'm gonna look down on you? Come on, Joby. Gimme a chance. Whatever you did, I done worse, or . . . or I owe you fifty bucks."

The offer's absurdity almost made Joby smile, but he remembered what he'd done, and his capacity to smile fled again. Suddenly, it seemed right though, to have to say it aloud, to let Jamie see what he truly was, like the beginning of some kind of penance. He looked Jamie squarely in the eye, determined to spare himself nothing, and said, "I slept with Laura Friday night after the prom."

Jamie looked incredulous, then blurted out, "That's what all this is about? I wondered why you been running off like that everytime you saw her comin'. Joby! You should be the happiest guy on campus!"

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Joby sighed, realizing that he'd just dragged Laura's reputation through the mud as well. "If you meant what you said about being my friend," he said, "please, don't tell anyone about this. For Laura's sake, if not for mine." He hung his head and turned to go. "I should never have said anything."

"No, Joby! Wait a minute!" Jamie moved to plant himself in Joby's path again. "I'm sorry. I know how much bein' good matters to you. I like that about you. But, there's stuff you don't get either!" He began steering Joby toward the door. "Give me ten minutes, okay? Then, you can go jump off a bridge if you want."

What the hell, Joby thought. It was too late to go to class now anyway.

Moments later they were sitting on a patch of half-dead grass out behind the wood-shop trailer. Lindwald had talked all the way there with such unexpected frankness and sensitivity that Joby had begun to feel a little better despite himself.

"You try too hard to be perfect!" Lindwald insisted. "Whoever said you couldn't make any mistakes? No one's perfect!" He sat up and grinned at Joby. "Ben's slept with Rebecca, you know. You think God's gonna send him to Hell?"

"No he didn't!" Joby gaped.

"Yes he did," Lindwald insisted. "Cross my heart and hope to go to Hell."

"He'd have told me!" Joby said.

"You think he'd tell Mr. Perfect a thing like that?" Lindwald scoffed. "That's what I mean, Joby. Even your best friend's afraid to tell you stuff, but if you're ready to start carin' about somethin' besides bein' the school's top egghead, maybe you can finally belong! See?" He shook his head good-naturedly.

Joby was so wrung out, he didn't know what to think. Benjamin had done this with Rebecca? Joby couldn't imagine God throwing Ben in Hell. Moreover, it suddenly dawned on him that Jamie's revelation hadn't lowered his own opinion of Ben either.

"Tell you what, bro!" Jamie announced. "Now that you finally got a life, we should go celebrate! I know someone who can get us a couple six-packs. We'll go out to my personal spot, have a few laughs, loosen up, howl at the moon a little! Hell, Joby! Now you finally been born, you gotta come out an' get baptized!"

Joby shook his head. "I'm in enough trouble already, Jamie. I don't think breaking the law is-"

"Joby, what does it take to get through your thick skull? Your 'perfect' days are over, and I bet even God's relieved! You finally got laid, bro!" he crowed. "You're a man now! So you're gonna worry about one or two little sips of beer?"

"It's-not-legal, Jamie."

Jamie looked at him askance. "For chrissake, Joby. We're seniors! You think anybody at that college you're goin' to won't be drinkin'? The cops ain't gonna arrest the whole freshman class at Berkeley, are they?" He shook his head. "Just one little time 'fore we're outta high school, let's go celebrate life, huh? Your life!"

Joby stared at his friend as if seeing him for the first time.

"Tell you what," Jamie announced. "I'll only have one beer. That way, you can leave your mom's car at home, and I'll be your designated driver. Isn't that responsible?"

Joby had never guessed how really enjoyable Lindwald's company could be! Amazing, outrageously . . . really bitchin' company!

In fact, it seemed that six or seven beers with Jamie had done more for Joby than many years of counseling. There was something tremendously therapeutic about needing such utter concentration just to . . . to walk . . . upright. He had no attention left to spare for any of the other things he was so glad not to be able to think about while he was . . . walking . . . but . . . he didn't care, because the other good thing about being drunk was that all he felt was one big, warm, drowsy buzz, much too large to leave room for any other feelings, like the ones he was so happy not to be feeling now, while . . . while Jamie was laughing . . . at him, Joby realized, and laughed too, then went sprawling to the ground, scattering his armload of empty beer cans in all directions, and laughing even harder. It felt so good to laugh!

"Good-bye, Mr. Perfect," Joby burbled as Jamie helped him to his feet, and stuck a few of the fallen beer cans back into his arms. Jamie's "personal spot" had been a small clearing in the woods outside of town; and, drunk or not, Joby had seen no point in leaving piles of trash to spoil such a pretty place. Jamie, who had consumed much more than one beer after all, had found the idea of cleaning the place up hilarious, and enthusiastically gathered not just their own empty cans, but many of the moldering beer cartons left by "previous campers."

The hike out seemed far longer than the hike in had been, and Joby's ability to walk had improved a lot by the time they got to Jamie's truck. So had his ability to think.

"Come on." Jamie grinned as they dumped their empty cans and cartons into the bed of his truck. "We can drive around awhile before I drop you at Ben's. That way, you won't show up there lookin' as wasted as you do now."

"You don't look so good yourself." Joby frowned. "I don't think we should drive anywhere yet. Why don't we just hang out here for a while, 'til this stuff wears off?"

"Don't talk dumb, Joby. Beer ain't new to me like it is to you. I'm nowhere near too heated to drive! Get in." He yanked the driver's door open, jumped up behind the wheel, and reached across to unlock the passenger door.

"Jamie, I'm just gonna walk," Joby said.

"I ain't spendin' no two hours walkin' around," Jamie complained, "and I ain't waitin' around for you to come back here when you figure out what a dumb-ass you are neither. So what's it gonna be?"

"I'm walkin', Jamie," Joby said irritably. "And you shouldn't be drivin'."

"Suit yourself," Jamie growled. "You sure still got a lot to learn about loosenin' up." Without further ceremony, he started the engine and left Joby in a spray of gravel.

Joby watched him go, pissed that Jamie could be such a pal one minute and such a bastard the next. When his eyes recovered from the glare of Jamie's headlights, he discovered there was enough light from the nearby town to see the road by, and began the long walk to Ben's house.

After half an hour of walking, his pleasant buzz had given way to sore feet and growing fatigue, but the evening had left him clear about one thing: He loved Laura. He had always loved Laura, just as he knew she had always loved him, and what they had done on Friday night had been purely wonderful. He wondered how it had taken him so long to see what had been right there in front of his face.

He was going to marry her. He knew that now with every molecule in his body. The decision was no frivolous by-product of his fading inebriation. It was the most quietly sober, absolutely right decision he had ever made in his life. If he could find some way to fix things after the way he'd acted, he'd ask her to marry him right away. They could go to Berkeley together, or he'd apply to Brown with her; it didn't matter. Father Richter had told him to learn to love her without lust. Well, he'd spent two years doing just that. Wasn't that long enough? Wasn't it time for "the easy part" now?

With that decided, he walked on through the lamp-lit town feeling lighter than he could remember feeling ever before. His feet hardly seemed to touch the pavement now. His head was clear. The night seemed beautiful. He even felt ready to face his mother, now that he knew what to tell her. She loved Laura too, after all.

Lucifer hovered over the viewing bowl in his office, watching Lindwald climb into his truck to leave Joby behind in the dark.

"Lindwald, my dear friend," he murmured, as if the damned soul's watery image could hear him, "you've played your small part beyond my wildest expectations, every line, parroted to perfection. It's time for that reward I promised you." Lucifer chuckled in delicious anticipation. "It's a little joke, actually, just between the three of us. Alas, poor Joby will not likely get it," he grimaced in mock regret, "and only I'll have time to laugh."

As he watched, the Triangle joined Lindwald in the scene; one to hold Jamie in his seat, lest he leap out of the truck and spoil it all; one to steer his truck toward the embankment; and one to light the spark in his gas tank. Lucifer shook his head and tsked. Given the incredibly thorough illusion of flesh in which Lindwald was trapped, this was probably going to hurt . . . a lot.

Ever since Joby had awakened to his first taste of debauchery's secondary rewards, Ben had wavered between sympathy founded in certain stark recollections of his own wilder nights, and an urge to smirk. Joby was the last person he had ever expected to see hungover, but when he'd shown up last night, Ben had refrained from pressing him for explanations. That morning as they'd gotten ready for school, Joby had finally told him all about his drinking spree with Lindwald, but refused to tell him why this sudden surrender to indulgence after so many years of respectable sobriety.