Her eyes snapped open with a jolt, and she sat up breathing hard. Oh God! It had seemed so real! She looked frantically at the clock. 4:00 P.M.! Joby should be home! Dear God, where was Joby?

Then she remembered the phone call from school-Joby's detention-and slumped in relief. The whole day had been difficult. An inexplicable depression had settled over her shortly after Frank and Joby had left the house that morning. The phone call from Joby's school had seemed the last straw. She'd gone to the couch for a nap, wondering if she were coming down with something.

What an awful dream, she thought, rubbing her eyes and getting up to start on dinner. But for all she tried, she could not set the image of her son's violent death aside.

She'd never have admitted it, even to Frank, but there had been a few times, a very few, when her dreams had seemed to come true. They'd all been about silly things: missing a bus, spilling a load of groceries, the trivial comment of some friend; things hardly worthy of premonition. But her father had always taken a surprising interest in dreams as well, both his own and hers, and had seemed to anticipate little things with uncanny accuracy at times. It had all combined to leave her with a nagging awareness of the possibility of . . . well . . . it was ridiculous. Dreams were nothing but dreams, thank God. Nothing but dreams.

They waited in Mrs. Nelson's room while she corrected spelling tests, sitting well apart, hands folded, and silent. Jamie fidgeted impatiently. His nose was huge and purple by now, and the rigid plastic desk chairs were too small for his considerable bulk. Benjamin gazed toward the windows as if trying to flee through them with his eyes. Joby stared at his folded hands and relived Mr. Leonard's humiliating judgment: I don't care what you think of Jamie's sportsmanship, young man. You threw that ball far too hard, apparently on purpose; and then you were the first to throw a punch. Fighting is not acceptable here for any reason, and YOU, Joby Peterson, clearly lit the fuse. That is why I am giving Ben and Jamie just one day of detention while YOU will stay after school every day this week.

Mrs. Nelson looked up at the wall clock behind them.

"All right, boys. It's four thirty. You may go."

They erupted from their chairs like greyhounds through the starting gate.

"But, Joby, I'll see you here again tomorrow. Remind your mother to expect you home late this week."

"Yes, Mrs. Nelson."

Outside the room, Jamie turned back to grin at Joby. "Don't forget to tell your mommy," he jeered, then turned and charged through the hallway door to freedom.

"What a loser he is," Benjamin muttered. "Joby . . ." Benjamin hesitated, "Why'd you just lie there like that when he hit you?"

Joby felt his cheeks flame. What could he say? I felt my own punch hit Lindwald's face? That sounded stupid even to himself now. He still couldn't understand what had happened. Had he just imagined it? Was he chicken, like Lindwald said? What if it happened again every time he tried to fight someone?

"Joby?" Benjamin pressed.

Joby's mind raced to invent some answer that didn't sound crazy or chicken; but all he could think of was the truth. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Cross my heart," Ben said.

Joby steeled himself. "Something so strange happened when I hit him, that . . . I don't know what it was. But-"

"I knew it!" Benjamin blurted out. "He did something to you, didn't he?"

Joby stared at Benjamin as his thoughts did a sort of flip-flop. He'd spent all afternoon trying to make sense of what had happened, but somehow it had never occurred to him that Lindwald might have caused it!

"You went all stiff right after you punched him," Benjamin said, "and I knew he did something to you-but I couldn't see what it was."

Joby was still too amazed by the idea forming in his head to speak.

"Come on, Joby! Trust me!" Ben insisted. "What'd he do?"

"Magic," Joby whispered in astonishment.

"What?" Benjamin asked.

"I know it sounds impossible," Joby said uncertainly, "but when I hit him, I felt it, just like it was my face getting slammed. Everything-even the bleeding. And when I went to hit him again, I felt my own punch before it even reached him."

Joby braced himself for Benjamin's ridicule, but all his friend said was, "Whooooa! How'd he do that?"

"Benjamin, I got a secret I haven't even told my mom. I can only tell you if you promise you'll believe me, no matter what. And that you won't tell anyone else, ever."

"Okay." Benjamin nodded excitedly.

"No matter what?" Joby pressed.

"Even if Lindwald punches me 'til I die," Benjamin assured him solemnly.

"Okay," Joby said, "but if I tell you, it's a sacred oath-like in my book. We're sword brothers then, forever."

"Cooool!" Benjamin exclaimed.

Joby spat on his hand. "We must shake on it, Sir Benjamin."

Benjamin spat in his hand too, and they shook on it. Then they wiped their hands on their pants, and Joby told Benjamin about his dream, and the secret mission for Arthur. Benjamin listened with growing amazement and admiration.

"You really went there?" Benjamin enthused when Joby had finished. "Did you have a sword?"

Joby looked thoughtful. "I don't think so. Just a horse."

"So, when do we start fighting, Joby?"

"Don't you get it, Benjamin? We already have! Lindwald works for the devil! That's how he made me feel that punch. Black magic! When I hit him, he just said, What's a matter, Joby, you hurt yourself on my nose? He knew, Benjamin! You made me see it! If he knew, he must have made it happen! Right? And if Lindwald can do magic, he must be working for . . . for him," Joby said, suddenly nervous.

"Lindwald works for the devil?"

Joby waved Benjamin quiet. "Don't go shouting his name like that!"

"What? Lindwald's?"

"No, you freak! The other one! . . . The enemy's! The real enemy!"

"Oh," Benjamin said, looking abashed. "You mean the dev-"

"Don't!" Joby urged. "Don't even say it. We'll just call him the enemy. Okay?"

Benjamin's eyes widened, and he looked around nervously. "You think he's listening, Joby? The . . . enemy? Like, right now?"

"I don't know," Joby said. "But he could be. Come on. We gotta go home and make a plan, Sir Benjamin. We can't get caught by surprise again!"

"That idiot!"

Lucifer whirled in fury from the bowl of water on his office desk through which, alerted by the ever-vigilant Williamson, he'd watched the disastrous scene unfold.

"I'm plagued with an endless army of morons!" he shouted at his office ceiling, then strode to an obsidian obelisk like the one in the conference room, slammed his hand against it, and shouted, "LINDWALD!"

Instantly, the terrified soul, still guised as a chunky little boy, materialized, cowering in a corner of the large office as far from his employer as possible.

"What's wrong, Sir?" he quavered.

"Watch!" Lucifer yelled, thrusting his hand toward the wall behind him, where a screen appeared, flickering bluish green at first, then resolving into images of Joby and Benjamin in the hallway at school. When their entire conversation had been replayed, Lucifer turned to flay Lindwald with his eyes.

"What a hoot, eh, Lindwald?"

"Sir, I-"

"Shut up!" Lucifer bellowed. "There is nothing I want more right now than to eviscerate each and every droplet of the mist you're made of! All it would take to shatter my restraint is one tiny excuse."

Trembling visibly, Lindwald seemed almost to merge with the wall behind him.

"I said, test him!" Lucifer snarled. "I said, n-o-t-h-i-n-g m-a-j-o-r! I sure as hell said nothing about the blatant use of power against him, did I!"

Lindwald had become virtually inert with terror.

"Well?" Lucifer demanded. "Answer me!"

"No, Sir. But it seemed like such a little thing to-"

" 'No, Sir' would have done nicely!" Lucifer raged. He began to breath deeply, like a giant bellows, gathering the shredded remnants of his patience. When he spoke again, it was at a fraction of his former volume, if no less angrily. "One stupid, self-indulgent bit of braggadocio, and look at what you've accomplished, Lindwald. Your cover is blown; he's fully marshaled around his dream of Arthur again-which he'd almost forgotten; he even has an ally now! An ally! You're a flaming genius!"

Lindwald seemed both surprised and alarmed by the whimper that escaped his own pouty little lips.

"Do you know why you're not already being filleted for table service, Lindwald?" Lucifer asked in suddenly mild tones infinitely more frightening than his earlier rage.

The shake of Lindwald's head was barely perceptible.

"Because, as personally satisfying as I might find your immediate destruction, your sudden disappearance now would only confirm their suspicions, and I don't want that. So I'm sending you back to convince them that you're nothing after all but a nasty little boy like any other juvenile sociopath they know. Try thinking obedience this time."

After several moments of agonized silence, Lindwald dared to squeak, "How?"

Lucifer merely smiled. "I am not a monster, Lindwald. I understand your limitations. We are not all born to brilliance, so to spare you any further gaffes, I'm sending you back without any special power at all. You needn't worry about tipping your hand again, because you really will be nothing but the helpless little bully we want them to believe you are. Of course, your . . . parents," he smiled cruelly, "will still have their abilities, and I'll see that they provide the kind of disciplined home life required to nurture your success."

Lindwald looked like he might puke on Lucifer's elegant gray pile carpet.

Lucifer turned to wander his office pensively. "Your strategy now is to get soundly thrashed by these boys. Do you understand? Take care to make it happen naturally and look convincing, but when you're done I want those two boys to look and feel like heroes . . . while you look like the ass you are!" Lucifer turned to face him again. "I'd go now, if I were you. It's getting late there. We wouldn't want your parents to worry, would we."

This last admonition held fearful implications, but Lindwald needed no prodding. He was gone before Lucifer's words had left the air.

3.

( Religions ) "Frank? You coming?"

Lost in thought, Frank looked up to find Sidney Mason at his office door.

"The Goldtree Mall meeting. Ten minutes, dude."

"Oh! Sure. Thanks, Sid. Be right there."

Sidney left him with a high sign.

Frank stood to gather what he'd need. His mind had been wandering all morning. His sleep the night before had been plagued by that same weird dream: racquetball at the health club. Unable to see the ball or move beyond a snail's pace, he'd endured the same humiliating defeat on court, then opened his locker to find Joby hiding there, dressed like a girl, lipstick, mascara, and all, sucking his thumb while the laughter of all Frank's acquaintances grew loud enough to wake him. That was how it always ended. He'd had the dream at least four times already, and wondered more and more anxiously why anyone would dream such sick things about his own son even once?

Juggling cost estimates, design documents, and blueprints, he shoved the whole matter from his mind once again and headed for the conference room. He had a shopping mall to plan, and important people to impress. There was no time to worry about dreams.

Lindwald sat alone, hunched and brooding at a corner of the playground. The pointed animosity of his schoolmates since the fight with Joby meant nothing to him; but the torments he'd been made to endure at "home" each night since that dreadful audience with his master had been all the more horrendous for knowing they'd grow steadily worse until he managed to get "thrashed." He'd been goading Joby and Benjamin relentlessly, but for some reason the contemptible pissants wouldn't fight back now.

Looking up, he caught Laura Bayer gazing adoringly at Joby as he played tetherball with Ben. The guy practically takes her head off with a dodgeball, Lindwald thought, and she goes soft for him! He spat between his feet, and wondered what made abuse such an aphrodisiac. The day after he'd hurt her, Joby had brought Laura a tree frog in a mayonnaise jar tied 'round with a green ribbon, and she'd fawned over the gift as if it were chocolates! Ye gods and little daisies! It was insulting to be in so much trouble over such imbeciles! Nonetheless, if Lindwald didn't find some convincing way to make them thrash him soon, his so-called parents would put scars on the scars he already bore beneath his clothes, which were no less painful for the contrived nature of his boyish seeming flesh.

When Joby slammed the winning shot high over Benjamin's head, Laura bounced to her toes, but just managed not to clap. She didn't want to hurt Benjamin's feelings. He was really very good, just not as good as Joby.

"Beating you's getting boring, Benjamin," Joby crowed, arresting the tetherball as it swung back around the pole.

"Then I'll beat you this time," Benjamin offered unperturbed. "Loser serves."

Joby swung the ball to him, but shook his head. "You'll have to beat Laura-if you can," he teased, turning to grin at her. "I gotta go write a idea down before I forget."

As she watched him run off to write in his secret book, Laura sighed. She'd always liked him, of course. Most everybody did. He was nice, and smart, and good at sports, and very handsome. But what had really won her heart was how deeply he had cared about what happened in the dodgeball game. She was glad he'd tried to hit Lindwald. She'd have done the same thing if she'd had the ball. But Joby had been so sorry, and so sweet to her ever since, that she'd have forgiven him no matter what. Joby had something none of the other boys did. He had a heart.

"So . . . wanna play me?" Benjamin asked shyly.

Turning from her thoughts of Joby, she smiled and nodded, stepping into the ring around the pole. Benjamin was very nice too, of course, and almost as handsome as Joby. When she and Joby got married, she hoped Benjamin would be their best man.

Hunched down against the school building, Joby slipped his "clue book" from a coat pocket. Its royal-blue cover was decorated with silver stars around a golden sun. His mother had gotten it at the stationery store, but Joby pretended it was a magic book conjured up by elves. He never wrote on its blank pages with anything but pencil, so that he could go back later and fix his spelling, which had improved so much that both Mrs. Nelson and his mom had noticed. A knight must practice, Joby reminded himself whenever learning to be perfect began to seem too hard. Since the disastrous fight with Lindwald, Joby had been careful to make sure his temper didn't mislead him again. He was also careful now to be polite to adults, wash his hands before every meal, and keep his room clean . . . well, cleaner anyway. He did his schoolwork first thing after detention each day . . . or almost first thing . . . most of the time. But he was still determined to do better. No more mistakes. A knight must practice.

Planning their strategy against Lindwald, Joby and Benjamin had started looking through his Treasury of Arthurian Tales for ideas. Several stories had mentioned a magical cup called the Grail, which nothing evil could come near, so the boys had started paying close attention to any cups they encountered, in case one of them should be it. Many of these same stories mentioned people called priests or bishops, who seemed to know a lot about fighting the devil. When Joby had wished aloud that they could find one, Benjamin had assured Joby that they had lots of priests at the church he and his parents went to, though he'd never seen any bishops there.

Joby had never been to church. His parents had never even talked about it. And when Benjamin told him that priests wore long robes like the people in Joby's book, and that the church looked like a castle, Joby had nearly flipped. "Maybe they're from Camelot!" he'd exclaimed. "Maybe they can tell us how to get there and talk to Merlin!"

Emboldened, Benjamin had explained that the church was at a school where people learned how to be priests, and suggested they ride over on their bikes that weekend, and talk to someone named Father Crombie.

"Why do you call him that?" Joby had asked.

" 'Cause that's his name, you dork! They get different last names, but their first name's always Father."

"But-"

"I don't know why!"

"Oh."

"He's pretty old, but he's real nice, and he knows all kinds of stuff. I bet he can tell us everything about fighting the devil."