"Sorry I look like a cat toy," he heard Joby say to Bridget. "Jupiter got us lost on a hike, and I figured, better on time and ragged than cleaned up and late. Hope I was right."

Hawk wasn't sure whether to laugh or sneer as Bridget reached up to brush the forest out of Joby's hair. As Joby move toward the food line, greeted by a steady stream of parents, to whom he apologized over and over for his unwashed condition, Hawk rolled his eyes, sure he'd never seen a more pathetic suck-up.

Then, just as Joby finally got a plate of food, the Bobs descended on him like a small tribe of gangster-rap Indians. Joby was clearly charmed to silliness with their little act, and Hawk had to admit they were funny but thought they hogged a lot of attention.

"You guys are total sitcom material," Hawk heard Joby laugh. "You thought about taking this to Hollywood?"

Cob looked offended. "You haven't seen our TV show? I'm hurt. You hurt, Cal?"

"I'm hurt bad." Cal frowned. "You hurt, Swami?"

"Yup," said Swami. "I'm pretty hurt."

Cal turned back to pout at Joby. "We're pretty hurt," he said.

"Hey! I'm sorry." Joby grinned. "Something I can do to make it up to you?"

"You could take us out to dinner somewhere," Cal said brightly.

Cob nodded happily. "That'd even us up."

"I'd love to," Joby said, and started dishing lasagna from his paper plate onto Cob's. "Everything's on me tonight. All you can eat."

"Hey!" Cob yelled, yanking his plate out of Joby's reach. "Get that off! How do I know where your food's been?"

"We didn't mean tonight," Cal griped. "You can just owe us later. Right?"

Wrong, thought Hawk. Say wrong, or you're- "Sure," Joby said.

Screwed, Hawk thought with a grim grin. The last thing anybody with a clue would want was to owe the Bobs. God knew what they'd ask for.

"Whadaya think, Cob?" Cal asked. "The Heron's Bowl?"

"Naw!" Cob scoffed. "That slop house? Let's go someplace nice."

"Yeah," Joby concurred theatrically, "this is a special occasion! We don't just want some canned food crap at gourmet prices. Let's go someplace good."

What a full-surge idiot! Hawk thought, watching Cal and Swami struggle to keep straight faces as Cob's expression darkened ominously.

"Who told you that?" Cob growled.

"Told me what?" Joby asked uncertainly.

"About the Heron's Bowl." Cob frowned, his impish brows drawn down.

"Well . . . you just did," Joby said, sounding confused. "I was just-"

"That's my mom's restaurant," Cob said.

"Oh, God," Joby groaned, closing his eyes. "I was only-You said . . . I've never even been there! I just . . ." He looked around nervously, and asked, "Is your mom here?"

By now Cal and Swami were laughing so hard, Hawk thought Cal might throw up. Even Cob was smiling, though it was, Hawk thought, a pretty scary smile.

"She's over there," Cob said, pointing at a cluster of chatting women across the noisy room. Hawk saw Joby slump in relief, then Cob said, "I think she'll want to know about this, though. The restaurant's reputation is very imp-"

"Don't you dare, Cob!" Joby cut in. "You totally set me up, and you know it!"

"Well, I suppose I don't have to tell her," Cob mused, gazing petulantly at his twiddling fingers. "We'll need to talk about what my silence is worth to you though."

"I'm buying you dinner, aren't I?" Joby protested.

Cal shook his head. "That was a previous debt."

"Why, you little thugs," Joby said. "My firstborn child then? A pound of flesh?"

"Gentlemen," Cal said officiously, "I don't think we should discuss this anymore without our lawyers present." He turned to his cohorts and said, "Conference." They stood in unison, leaving Joby to stare after them as they walked in theatrical silence across the room and out the main doors.

Hawk had no idea what everyone had been freaking out about. This guy was no scary spy. He was just a full-surge doofus. . . . Or was he? Might a spy not try to look foolish, just to throw folks off?

"Why are you avoiding everybody, Hawk?"

Hawk turned to find Rose at his shoulder. "I am not," he said.

"Yes, you are. You've been here half an hour and haven't even talked to anyone."

"I'm just . . . in a quiet mood." Hawk shrugged, embarrassed to admit that he'd been stalking Joby Peterson.

Rose looked down self-consciously and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"What would be wrong?" he said, flustered.

"I don't know. I just . . . well, wasn't it around this time last year when your dad-"

"Oh please!" Hawk exclaimed. "Everyone knows that was the happiest day of my life!" He looked away, appalled at taking such an angry tone with Rose. "I'm sorry, Rose. I . . . It's just . . . I didn't mean to sound like that."

"It's okay," she said. "A bunch of us are going to the headlands. Want to come?"

"Sure! Gotta take a leak though. Will you wait?"

She rolled her eyes and nodded as Hawk raced off toward the bathrooms. When he arrived, however, the door swung open, and he came face-to-face with Joby Peterson.

"Sorry," Hawk said, looking down and stepping back to let Joby pass.

"No problem," Joby said, but instead of walking by, he added, "I don't think we've met. You a student here?"

Hawk knew it would be dumb to lie. They were bound to meet sooner or later. Besides, hadn't he decided the guy was harmless? "I'm Hawk," he said.

"Well!" Joby grinned, stretching out his hand. "At long last, the famous Hawk! You're supposed to be in one of my freshman classes. How come I haven't seen you?"

"I've been sick," Hawk lied. "Flu. Bad. . . . How come you know me?"

"I . . . I don't," Joby said, "I just-"

"You just said, 'the famous Hawk,' " Hawk insisted, suddenly tired of all the sneaking around. "How come I'm famous?"

Joby gave him an odd smile, then shrugged and said, "Well, my first day in Taubolt, I happened to hear Rose and Bellindi talking out on the headlands. They mentioned a bunch of pretty cool names, and yours was one of them." He shrugged.

But how 'd you hear them through the ring? Hawk barely managed not to blurt it out.

Perhaps his frustration showed, because Joby grinned sympathetically and leaned in even closer. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked quietly.

Hawk's skin prickled. Was this guy going to tip his hand at last? Hawk nodded gravely, half-thrilled and half-afraid.

"Well," Joby took a quick glance around, and said, "don't ever say I told you this, 'cause I kind of fibbed a bit to Rose and Bellindi about it, but I did hear Rose tell Bellindi that she thinks you're cute."

Hawk couldn't keep the sudden smile from his face, no longer caring how Peterson had gotten through their ring, just very, very stoked that he had!

Raphael stood, balanced in perfect stillness atop the minaret's highest needle, gazing down at the still waking city of Damascus. As the first rays of dawn touched his perch, the angel assumed corporeal form just long enough to feel the sunlight burnish his gleaming ebony face with luminous highlights of violet and indigo darker and richer than the city's fleeing shadows. This was his favorite time of day, the moment of trembling, sunlit silence just before the muezzins began their hauntingly beautiful call to prayer throughout the city spread beneath him. He smiled gravely, imagining what someone looking up just then might think to see him balanced on the head of this great pin. It was doubtful anyone would lift their eyes so high. Nonetheless, he released his momentary body and faded from sight again.

"Raphael."

The voice, more felt than heard, broadened the smile on Raphael's vanished face. "Master?" he whispered in a bass voice softer than the morning breeze.

"Attend Me."

"Your command is joy to me, My Lord."

An instant later, the minaret's needle was as empty as it seemed.

Raphael found his Master sitting alone among the stars, looking pensive and improbably melancholy.

"What do You require, Master?" Raphael asked, eyes cast down, despite the joy his Lord's presence brought him.

"Company," the Creator replied.

"I am here, My Lord. But . . . where has my brother, Gabriel, gone?"

"Gabe is off on business of his own," the Creator sighed.

"Forgive me, Master," the angel asked in graceful astonishment, "but since when have angels business of their own?"

"An excellent question," the Creator mused. "Let's go for a walk, Rafe. I've a thirst for conversation."

They stepped together into the bright purity of Mt. Chomolungma in Tibet, and started out across the glittering slope, heedless of the shearing wind and drifting snow.

After a time, the Creator asked, "So, My friend, what shall we talk about?"

Raphael looked over in surprise. "Whatever You wished to discuss, My Lord."

"I was rather hoping you'd think of something," the Creator answered.

Puzzled, Raphael searched himself for some worthy subject, and finally said, "Where I am, there is little more than rumor of Your latest wager with Lucifer. How does it proceed?"

"Ah," the Creator said. "An interesting choice."

As the Creator filled him in, Raphael's inner smile grew increasingly grave. "It does seem to me at times, Lord," Raphael said deferentially, "that Lucifer could not manipulate mortal kind as he does if they were more obedient to You. May it not displease You, Master, but I have wondered why You allow humanity such free rein."

The Creator nodded, seeming to approve of the question, much to Raphael's relief. "Have I ever told you how I created the world, Rafe?"

Raphael had heard the story too many times to count, of course, and witnessed some of it himself. But he never tired of hearing it again, for his Master told it differently each time. So Raphael smiled, and said, "It would please me greatly to listen, Lord."

"Well, Rafe," the Creator began, "believe it or not, I wasn't always perfect."

Raphael looked doubtful.

"No. It's true," his Master said. "Not only was I lonely once, I didn't even know that's what it was. I thought I was just bored. It was just Me and My shadow then, you know, in this big empty void." He shrugged. "A shadow's pretty poor company, Rafe-especially in a void.

"Anyhow, thinking I just needed a hobby, I took up pretty much every craft there was back then, and put together this fairly sophisticated performance piece where I juggled a lot of clay spheres on long curvilinear continuums in front of this humungous astronomical mural I'd painted, but with no audience to impress, except my shadow, it was kind of like TV. You know? Just a lot of motion without any real meaning."

Raphael shrugged politely, as they stopped to watch a snow leopard wander the icy waste ahead of them.

"It wasn't just motion I wanted, Rafe. It was conversation: honest-to-God debate, witty repartee, juicy gossip! But with whom?" The Creator shrugged. "My shadow never had anything to say I hadn't already thought of on my own. I needed something more than just a better sock puppet. I needed real company! This had never been done before, of course. I had to start totally from scratch. My first breakthrough was single-celled organisms, but they were a total bust as company-like talking with your lava lamp." The Creator shook His head. "More television, really. And scale was a problem. Developed some serious eyestrain issues trying to see what I was doing for such long periods. That's why I made dinosaurs, really, so I could step back a little and still see the game."

The Creator's story was interrupted again as a great slab of ice and snow crashed down into the vast gorge ahead of them. Avalanches are majestic things, especially at a distance, and they were both silent in appreciation until the last drifts had settled.

"But you know, Rafe, it still wasn't scratching that itch. None of it." The Creator paused thoughtfully, then asked, "Ever been to Disneyland all by yourself, Rafe?"

"I must confess to having missed that pleasure," Raphael replied respectfully.

"Must you?" the Creator asked.

"Well . . . yes, My Lord," Raphael answered in surprise. "I've never done it. Would I lie to You? Why even try?"

"Yes," the Creator sighed wistfully. "Why even try?"

"My Lord?" Raphael asked, worried that he'd said something wrong.

"It's nothing, Rafe. Anyway, you haven't missed much. I've tried it, actually."

Raphael looked up, startled.

"Oh. Not lying." The Creator smiled. "The Disneyland thing. Went in while it was closed one night and turned on all the rides, set off some fire-works, made Myself dinner at the best restaurant-you know, the one above New Orleans Square that only VIPs ever get to see? But the whole night was a crashing bore. 'Oooooh!' you say when the fireworks explode, and nobody says, 'Yeah! Look at that!' 'Isn't this salad superb!' you say, and nobody says, 'God! It's delicious!' It's just not that much fun waving your arms around and screaming on a roller coaster all by yourself, Rafe."

Raphael was completely nonplussed, but one look at the forlorn expression on his Master's face kept him silent.

"It was like that with My creation too," the Creator said. "Every day I saw interesting courtship rituals, combat, storms, earthquakes, floods, volcanoes. Like summer at the movies. But when you say, 'Look at that volcanic sunset, will you?' to an animal, the most you're likely to get is a brief look up from chewing cud or licking scales. Nothing was ever special or surprising to them because it never occurred to them-couldn't occur to them-that things might be any other way.

"I began to get seriously depressed, Rafe. Why be Supreme Being if I couldn't make anything that wasn't just more of Me? I started talking to my shadow again, each conversation darker than the last, until . . ." The Creator became pensive again, then asked, "Do you know why teenagers get roaring drunk, and zoom around wrecking cars, and bungee jump off bridges, Rafe?"