"Those trees are half made of such weather, young man. They've stood through storms like this for a hundred years, and I'll be truly surprised if they surrender even a limb to anything this one has to offer. So when you bring the lamps up, please don't go scaring my guests with such ideas. All right, dear?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I know." He saw her smile in the wan glow of her flashlight. "But a word in time saves nine, to mangle the proverb. We must remember that some of those city folk may not take the same delight in such little adventures as people like you and I do."

Joby had to smile. Those city folk? Who did she think he was? Then the rest of her remark registered: people like you and I. Suddenly, he ached with wanting to belong-really belong-here in Taubolt. Like you and I. . . . Yeah, he thought. Thanks, Mrs. Lindsay. That's the best Christmas present I ever got. "I thought you said Christmas was going to be lovely," he teased as they headed for the kitchen.

"Well, here's more proof that weather's a famously imprecise science, dear," she laughed. "Welcome to the wild frontier, Joby."

In all his existence, Gabriel had never endured anything so shameful as knowing that he alone was to blame for the euphoric astonishment dawning on Lucifer's face.

"Do my ears deceive me, little brother," Lucifer gasped in unbridled delight, "or did they just hear you admit to having blatantly cheated?"

"Joby prayed for a sign," Gabe said palely, "and sought-"

"I've finally got You!" Lucifer crowed, turning with glee to face the Lord of all Creation. "The wager is forfeit to me!" He actually chortled. "I don't think I'm going to make You wipe it all away just yet though. I want a little time to enjoy his humiliation first!" He pointed vengefully at Gabriel. "Well, little brother? Have you nothing to say? Aren't you going to stammer explanations? Apologize perhaps? Grovel? Anything?"

The Creator gazed sadly at Gabriel, who looked abashed, and said, "I did nothing to influence his choice. I only answered his prayer for a ride."

"His prayer to you personally?" Lucifer demanded.

"No," Gabe said without hesitation.

"His prayer to angels in general? To God even?"

Again, Gabe shook his head.

"Just his wish, then," Lucifer scoffed. "It was no prayer at all." He turned insolently to God. "I tire of all this stalling. The victory is mine. I claim my prize. It is time to unmake this miserable travesty."

"Of course," the Creator said. "As soon as you explain which of the wager's terms has been violated."

Lucifer looked incredulous. "Our terms clearly stipulate that no immortal servant of Heaven may intervene without explicit invitation to do so by the candidate! My overzealous sibling here is certainly an immortal being, and he has, by any honest definition, intervened on his own initiative," his expression became sly, "unless You put him up to it, of course. . . . You didn't, I suppose."

The Creator's silent stare grew chilly.

"Just asking." Lucifer shrugged. "Pays to be thorough, You know."

"I have yet to see your point," the Creator said, unamused.

"What's not to understand?" Lucifer snapped. "He interfered! The terms say-"

"That I was to command him not to," the Creator interrupted coldly, "which I did. There is no term requiring his obedience."

While Lucifer gaped, Gabriel struggled not to stagger from sheer relief.

"You . . . You cannot be serious!" Lucifer choked at last. "The assumption of obedience is obviously inherent in any mention of Your command!"

"You'd be proof of that, I suppose," the Creator observed dryly.

"Then . . . then I demand that he be punished," Lucifer spat. "The penalty for angelic disobedience is damnation, if I am not mistaken."

"That I cannot say," the Creator replied.

"You cannot say?" Lucifer said shrilly. "You had no trouble finding Your voice when it was my turn!"

"Your terms," the Creator calmly reminded him, "forbid Me from anything that might constitute expression of My will in regard to any issue touching on this matter prior to the wager's resolution. Thus, I cannot say."

Gabriel and his Master waited in silence, until, after much ranting, pacing, and heavy breathing, Lucifer was able to go on.

"A touch. I confess it, Sir," Lucifer said, still struggling toward calm. "You are . . . stunningly resourceful. But as Your angel has proven himself a liar and a sneak, I must at the very least insist he be deposed as our wager's official witness."

"I'm sorry, Lucifer, but, once again, your logic escapes Me. He has answered every question put to him freely and without distortion. How does this constitute lying?"

"Ridiculous! What of timely disclosure?" Lucifer insisted. "If concealing the truth all this time doesn't qualify him as a liar, it certainly still makes him a sneak."

"But he concealed nothing." The Creator shrugged. "He confessed everything to Me as soon as he returned from conveying Joby to Taubolt."

Lucifer's eyes grew wide with fury. "And You said nothing to me at that park, when I specifically challenged You about-"

"You asked if I had broken the terms of our wager, and were told that I had not," the Creator cut him off. "I must also remind you that, as there was no other witness to our agreement, we would have to null the entire affair if Gabriel were removed. Can't conclude the rite without a witness, can we?"

Lucifer lost his briefly regained control. "You . . . I . . . I insist . . . He can't . . ."

"Complete sentences, please. Do you wish to dismiss him, and put this whole affair behind us, or not?" the Creator asked politely.

"Of course not!" Lucifer yelled.

"Please watch your tone," Heaven's Master said amiably. "My patience may be infinite, but it does not extend much past that. Now, unless you possess some further pressing revelation, I presume our business is concluded?"

"You're so clever," Lucifer hissed, trembling with rage. "But who in Heaven or earth do You suppose will trust You when this affair is finished, knowing how You allowed this blatantly biased and disobedient conniver to remain at Your side through the remainder of these proceedings?"

"I fear he may be right, My Lord," Gabe said, bowing his head in shame.

Lucifer turned to look at him in surprise, the Creator in sad acceptance.

"Though I do not know what Your judgment regarding my disobedience will be, Lord," Gabe said quietly, "I have no desire to cast suspicion upon You through my continued presence. Therefore, I ask leave to remove myself from Your presence until the wager is concluded and You are free to make Your opinion of me known."

"You must do as you see fit, Gabriel," the Creator said quietly. "For the very reasons already mentioned, I may provide no guidance."

"Then I would go now, My Lord," Gabe said, fighting not to weep in their sight.

"As you wish," the Creator said quietly. Then He turned back to Lucifer with frightening sternness. "As for you, Bright One, I grow weary of these rude displays. I assure you, by the power of My Name, that when and if I lose this wager, you will not need to seek Me out like some recalcitrant schoolboy. I will come to you! Until that day, however, think very carefully before wasting more of My time."

Joby woke the next morning in near darkness to quiet clinking and scraping sounds coming from the kitchen. Apparently Mrs. Lindsay was already cleaning up. When they'd gone in for lamps and candles, they'd found a length of picket fence shoved partway through the shattered kitchen window. As the storm had grown worse, they had helped the guests bring their bedding down to the main floor after all. They'd all camped out together in the parlor and the dining room, as far from the windows as possible, listening to the world moan and crash outside until exhaustion had finally dragged them once more into restless slumber.

Joby turned and stretched, then rose quietly from his tangle of quilts, and went to help Mrs. Lindsay, whom he found with a dustpan beside a waste-basket full of shattered glass. A wet mop stood in its bucket near the broken window. The floor and counters were already clean and nearly dry.

"Oh, Joby," she whispered as he entered. "Am I waking everyone?"

He shook his head. "I'm a light sleeper. Looks like I'm too late to help, though. How long have you been up?"

"Just a while. I wanted things ready to go in here. After making them sleep on my parlor floor, I'm hoping an impressive breakfast might appease them some."

"I don't think they'll blame you for last night. How will you cook without power?"

"It's gas, dear," she said, waving at the oversize stove. "I went out to have a look." She grimaced. "It's quite a mess out there, but the tank and lines look fine, so it should be safe. Afraid I'll need all the help you can give me today."

"Happy to be of service, ma'am," he said in a silly cowboy twang, grinning.

"Good. There are a few things I need from the grocery and the hardware right away. I've made a list." She took a slip of paper from the countertop. "Would you mind heading over now to pick them up?"

"Sure," Joby said, "but won't they be closed still?"

"Given the state of things, Franklin's probably had the hardware open all night." She smiled grimly. "The grocery's his too, so if it's still closed, you just tell him it's for me. He'll let you in. You know where they are?"

"Yup." Joby smiled. "Noticed 'em yesterday. I'll get my shoes on, and go."

"Thank you so much, Joby. You're a godsend!"

"All in a day's work, ma'am," he twanged again, not sure where the cowboy persona had come from, but liking the feel of it.

A moment later, as he stepped out into the pewter morning, Joby stopped and looked around in awe. Most of the inn's westward picket fence was now up against the house in chunks, along with the ruins of a small shed blown from God knew where. Mrs. Lindsay's cypress trees still stood, but two large limbs lay across her flower beds, while a third leaned up against the house, having torn away a good length of gingerbread molding in its fall. Shingles from who knew how many roofs lay scattered across the yard like oversize leaves. Ragged shreds of cloud crept sluggishly across the drizzly sky, as if even the air hung in tatters now.

One of Mrs. Lindsay's neighbors had been far less fortunate. A tall bishop pine leaned well through the second-story wall of a house across the street. There was no one to be seen outside the building.

As Joby walked farther into town, the true dimensions of Taubolt's disaster became increasingly apparent. A fallen cypress had crushed the corner of the health food store on Alland Street. The roots of another had torn up a large chunk of Shea Street as it fell, turning a length of old plank sidewalk into a length of old plank fence between an art gallery and the music store. Up toward the graveyard, a pickup truck lay crushed beneath a third downed tree. Two teenage boys and a girl stood staring forlornly at the wreckage, the girl in tears. Dead power lines drooped into the street. Christmas lights hung in sad, limp strands from every storefront. Bits of holiday merchandise snatched from broken display windows had come to rest in odd places. A large plastic punching clown, AWOL from the toy store, leered down from its new perch above Father Time and the Maiden, a sculpture atop the bank building. Joby shook his head again in wonder at the mess Mother Nature had made of last night's perfect Christmas card.

He found the grocery full of people, though none seemed to be customers.

"Holy cow," he gasped, staring up at the gaping hole left when a large span of roof had been torn from the back half of the store over the meat counter and the produce.

"Least it didn't come off over the dry goods," quipped a blue-apronned clerk wheeling her full mop bucket past him. "Produce don't mind the water so much."

Joby offered a sympathetic smile. "I hate to even ask this right now, but Mrs. Lindsay sent me over from the Primrose Picket for some things."

The clerk smiled wryly. "Gladys pressin' her guests into service now? How'd you all come through it over there last night?"

"Better than you, I guess." Joby grinned ruefully. "I'm not exactly a guest, though. I'm sort of her new hired hand. My name's Joby."

"Oh?" said the clerk. "Well I'm Dahlia. Never seen you around before."

"I just got here yesterday, actually." Joby shrugged awkwardly. "I'm a friend of Father Crombie's. He sort of fixed up the deal with Mrs. Lindsay."

"Oh!" the clerk said. "Where'd you know Crombie from?"

"He used to be at St. Albee's Seminary where I went to church."

"Well!" the clerk laughed. "Ain't you had a fine introduction to Taubolt, then! Really rolled out the old red carpet, didn't we? First that quake, then this!"

"Made quite an impression." He grinned. "I suppose I should go tell Mrs. Lindsay when you'll be open."

"Oh, help yourself to whatever she needs." The clerk smiled, waving at the store. "Just keep the list. Gladys can settle with Franklin when the war's over."

"Thanks," Joby said, rather startled at her ready trust. He glanced at his list and asked, "Um . . . where should I look for . . . maraschino cherries and walnut halves?"

The clerk's eyes widened. Then she laughed, "Real emergency supplies, is it?"

"I think she's trying to appease her guests with a special breakfast," he offered.

"Well I hope they appreciate it," the clerk chuckled. "Those are over on the first aisle by the cake mixes. Pickled eggs are by the champagne over there," she joked, "in case Gladys can't make it through the mornin' without them either."

By the time Joby left the adjacent hardware store with plastic sheeting, duct tape, and carpet tacks, it was all he could do to carry his purchases. Stopping to consolidate his load, he glanced down Shea Street toward the bay just as a mountainous comber surged through, its top blown back like thick white smoke. As he stared, the entire bay heaved upright with a grating rumble, as if the ponderous wave were tearing everything off the bottom as it came. Then it hit the cliffs like cannon fire, and shot into the air like Niagara Falls in reverse before plunging down onto the rocks and seething back into the bay.

"Oh my God!" Joby exclaimed. He'd heard of storm surf, but never imagined anything so huge!

Heading down for a closer look, Joby was so absorbed in the spectacle that he missed the curb and found himself performing feats of juggling and contortion to make any circus proud. Barely managing to retrieve his footing and the bags of food, he wasn't fast enough to catch the rest. The plastic box of carpet tacks burst open on the sidewalk as the rolls of duct tape fled in three directions and the plastic sheeting started to unwind. Had he been watching someone else dash after so many fugitives at once, he'd have found it very funny.

Chasing a roll of duct tape that had just vanished around the street corner, Joby nearly collided with a distinguished older man coming from the building's other side, who held out the runaway, and said, "I am guessing this is yours?"

"Thanks," said Joby, sheepishly accepting the roll. "I dropped some things."

"So I see," the man chuckled, looking past him toward the field of scattered carpet tacks. "Let me help you gather these," he said, already heading toward the task.

"Thanks, but I can do it," Joby said, jogging to retrieve the other rolls of tape.

But the man was already bent down, sweeping the spill into a pile with his hands. "I've no pressing engagements," he said cheerfully. "My pleasure. Really."

"Everyone's so kind here," Joby said, somewhat embarrassed as he came to help pick up the more far-flung tacks and return them to the still serviceable box. "I was watching those waves down in the bay instead of where I was going."

"Quite a sight this morning isn't it!" the man agreed.

"Sure is," Joby said. "Is it always like that after storms here?"

"Not usually this impressive," said the man. "Then, neither are our storms, fortunately." He turned, extending his hand. "My name's Solomon, by the way."

"Oh. Sorry. Joby," Joby said, shaking his hand. "You're from here, I take it?"

"Yes . . . and no," Solomon replied. "Just returning after a long absence, actually."

"No way!" said Joby. "I just came back here after a long absence too, sort of. Got here yesterday. You live here in town?"

"I'm not quite settled yet," the man said evasively. "You?"

"I'm helping out at the Primrose Picket Inn. I've got a room there."

"Ah." Solomon smiled. "I've many fond memories of that place."

"Oh! You know Mrs. Lindsay then?"