The Book of Joby (110 page)

In Joby’s mind, the morning of Gypsy’s death was being replayed with lurid intensity; the yelling, the uniforms, the scuffling mob, Gypsy’s bloodied corpse lying lifeless in his arms. It was all happening again, but Joby couldn’t seem to move or even breathe. He was afraid to speak for fear that one more voice raised might push the button that would make it all explode.

Then he saw Nacho shoving toward the front of the crowd of boys again; his shirt now soaked in the blood still cascading from his nose.

“Nacho!” he croaked, trying to be heard, afraid to yell. “Nacho! Come here!” Nacho didn’t hear him. Had he forgotten how much Donaldson loathed him? Suddenly, it was Nacho’s bloodied body Joby imagined holding in his arms. Joby took several frightened steps closer to the conflict, and stepped up on the bumper of some civilian car parked there from the party, hoping he’d be seen above the crowd.

“Nacho!” Joby snapped more loudly. “Get out of there!” Amazingly, Nacho heard, and turned to look at him. “Come here!” Joby demanded. “Come here,
now
!” Nacho just kept staring, as Joby gestured frantically toward himself. “Now! Please!” he yelled, until, to his deep relief, the boy backed from the crowd and started toward him.

Joby leapt from the bumper of the car to grab Nacho’s hand as soon as he was near, and dragged him farther from the lights and yelling. “Donaldson hates you,” Joby said. “You’ve got to stay away from that.”

“No!” Nacho said, pulling out of Joby’s grasp. “Don’t you see what they’re doing?” Nacho turned to look back at the altercation, and Joby saw that he was crying.

“I see it,” Joby replied with urgency. “I’ve seen it before, Nacho. People could get hurt here. They could get killed! This has to be addressed, but not here! Not like this!”

“You can’t just let them get away with this!” Nacho wept, suddenly nothing like the tough hoodlum he was so often accused of being. “Look what they did to Ander,” he groaned again. “What they’re doing to all of us!”

“I won’t let them get away with anything, Nacho,” Joby said. “I promise you, I’ll see that this is dealt with. But you have to trust me and stay out of it tonight.” Tonight, he thought, but not tomorrow, vowing in his heart that
someone was going to answer for this outrage. They might get away with stuff like this in the cities, but it wasn’t going to happen
here.
He’d had enough of watching Taubolt die.

Around the embattled police cars, the crowd of boys had begun to back away and quiet down. Everyone could see that they were beaten. The conflict disintegrated as quickly as it had ignited, and officers were already starting to mop up the details.

“What happened to your nose?” Joby asked Nacho.

“Donaldson pepper-sprayed me,” Nacho said. “Right in the face. A couple others got it too, but it was mostly me.”

“Why?” Joby asked. “And what did they arrest Ander for?”

“They came marchin’ onto the beach like that, and told everyone to go,” Nacho grumbled. “Ander asked them why he had to leave, and Donaldson just jumped out and started slappin’ handcuffs on him.”

Joby could not believe it had been that simple. “So, why’d he spray
you
?”

“I don’t know,” said Nacho, shrugging, “I was at least twelve feet behind him. Everybody was. But he was yankin’ Ander up the stairs by those handcuffs, and it was breakin’ Ander’s arms! Then his wrists began to bleed, and everybody started shouting for Donaldson to ease up. That’s all I was doin’, tellin’ Donaldson not to hurt him.”

“Here’s some ice for your nose,” said a voice behind them.

They turned to find an officer holding a cooler full of ice cubes from the beach.

“They’re getting some towels from the inn over there,” the officer said politely. “It’ll probably help if you wet one down and hold your nose shut, leaning forward. Are you having any trouble breathing, son?” the officer asked, with what seemed genuine concern. “Any dizziness or nausea?”

Nacho shook his head, leaning to bleed into the bucket until the towels arrived.

“Okay,” the officer said. “I’ll check back later to see how you’re doing.”

Nacho refused even to look up, but Joby thanked the officer, feeling as if they’d all just dodged a bullet.

Five minutes later another officer arrived with the towels. Nacho thanked the man this time, though sullenly, and was wrapping ice inside of one when a third officer called, “Hey, Ted, get over here! We’ve got another call!” The officer excused himself, and left just as Joby heard his name called, and turned to see Tholomey running toward them.

“Joby, have you seen my brother?” Tholomey called raggedly.

“Yes,” Joby sighed. “I’m sorry, Tholomey, but he was arrested. Don’t worry though. I’m going to—” Joby stopped short, realizing that Tholomey was crying very hard. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Your brother’s all right. He just—”

“You have to come,” the boy managed to say before breaking down completely.

“What is it?” Joby asked.

“We were running from the cops,” Tholomey squeezed out between sobs. “Hawk and Rose and me. We ran across a street, and—” Tholomey started crying too hard to talk. “Rose got run into by a car!” the boy keened. “I think she’s dead!”

“Fuck!” Nacho gasped behind him, jumping to his feet.
“Fuuuck!”
he yelled.

“Where?” Joby rasped, his chest seeming to collapse.

Tholomey began to run back the way he’d come, waving for them to follow.

“Where’s Hawk?” Joby asked, catching up to run beside the boy.

“He went crazy after she got hit,” Tholomey said, his voice a gurgling shudder. “He just laid on top of her and cried at first. Then he ran away, and he was screaming, Joby. It was . . .” Tholomey ran on, crying too hard again to tell him any more.

By now, Joby’s face was wet with tears as well. This much grief was
not allowed,
he kept thinking to himself. . . . It shouldn’t be
allowed
!

For three days Michael followed helplessly as Basquel drove Hawk raging through the woods to bat at trees, scream his larynx raw, sit staring into space, sob himself to sleep, wake sobbing still, and rise to rage again. Before Hawk had even run from Rose’s body, the disembodied demon had been riding him, both feeding and being fed by the boy’s consuming anguish. Well aware that Michael followed them, the demon frequently looked back to laugh, reveling in the angel’s impotence. They both knew that Hawk was being shaped to serve as Hell’s H-bomb against Joby, and that helping him in any way would constitute unlawful intervention of the most flagrant kind.

On Hawk’s fourth morning in the woods, ragged and disheveled, but seeming more lucid in some frightening way, Michael saw him discover something in his pocket and pull out the little book of fairy poems Rose had given him. At first Hawk only stared at it, dumbfounded. Then he opened it, turning numbly to the page that she had bent.

As the glimmer of tears gathered in his eyes, the boy began to tremble and weep. “ ‘Even now, in hedge and thicket,’ ” Hawk mumbled hoarsely through his tears, “ ‘. . . starry blossoms . . . white.’ ” The last word was less than whispered as Hawk peered up around the clearing in bewildered desperation.

“Where?” Hawk croaked. Michael saw Basquel prod the boy cruelly, and Hawk’s face jerked toward the sky,
“Where are all the fucking flowers, Rose?!”

His screams became incoherent as he hurled the book with all his might against a nearby tree, then rushed to scoop it off the ground, and throw it at the trunk again.
“There’s no flowers!”
he shouted at the tattered book.
“I hate you! I hate you!
” Falling on the book, he grabbed it in both fists and tried to tear it in half. He was too weak though, after so many days unfed, and, in another moment, pressed it to his chest instead, as if to push it through
himself, and wept and wept with such remorse that Michael could not bear it any longer.

No longer did Michael merely
fear
himself a coward, as he had since Jupiter and Sky had died; he
knew,
and in that instant saw the path that had been there right before him from the start.
With the candidate,
his Lord had said.
The folks here are still under your care. The wager don’t change that.

Remorse to rival Hawk’s leapt up in Michael’s breast. He had not just been afraid of disobedience. He’d been afraid of guessing wrong, of bearing responsibility for losing Heaven’s wager through some misstep of his own. He’d been afraid of facing what his brother faced, and Merlin too: damnation. Still afraid of all those things, but no longer able to cling to such excuses, Michael cast aside the safety of unseen sympathy for Hawk, and stepped into the clearing in a form the boy would see and know.

“Hawk,” he said firmly. “It’s time to stop this. Rose’s death was not your fault.”

Hawk looked up gaping. “Jake?” he gasped.

“What are you doing?!”
the demon howled in a voice only Michael’s ears detected.
“You cannot interfere!”

Concentrating all his anger, Michael thrust a hand toward Basquel’s head. With a shriek, the demon became flesh against his will, bowling Hawk down flat beneath his now considerable physical weight.

“You fool!”
the toad-faced demon roared as Hawk struggled in terror to get out from under whatever beast had jumped him.
“You’ve damned yourself for certain now!”

“Get off!”
Hawk gasped, scuttling away from Basquel in horror.
“Who are you?”

“That is what has caused your torment for so many months,” Michael said grimly, still staring at Basquel. “It and others like it. It’s a demon, Hawk.”

“What?”
Hawk squeaked.
“Where’d it come from? What’s it want with me?”

“Now you’ve fouled the wager!” Basquel snarled. “This will not be overlooked! You’ve betrayed your Master’s cause to us!”

“I haven’t said a thing about the wager,” Michael said quietly, “but you just did.”

Basquel looked appalled, then, with narrowed eyes, said, “It doesn’t matter, now. The wager’s already lost, and you’re to blame. Explain that to your Master.”

“Is that so?” Michael replied. “I am commanded not to aid the
candidate
unasked. This boy is no more him than any of the others you’ve all made yourselves so free with.”

Crouched now at the clearing’s edge, Hawk stared back and forth between them in stunned incomprehension.

“You’ve
cheated
!” Basquel screamed. “That means
we win,
and you’ll be
punished
!
Master! Master, come and see what they are doing
!”

“I’m already here,” said Lucifer, stepping from beneath the trees, not guised as GB, but as himself, tall and dark to Michael’s tall and fair. “Did you really think I’d let you go unwatched all this time with such an important charge?” he asked Basquel.

Michael moved to stand between Hell’s ruler and Hawk, saying, “You’ll have to deal with me to have him back.”

“Have him back?” Lucifer said dismissively. “There’s hardly any point now. Not after all this. First Lancelot. Now Mordred. It seems I shall have to improvise
again.
No, Michael, I’ve only come for . . .
closure.
” He turned to Basquel with ominous calm. “Whose idea was it to stay and chat in front of the boy once you’d been exposed?”

“What?” the creature said, its fear instantly apparent. “I didn’t—I never—”

“You did,” Lucifer said quietly. “It seems I should have listened to Kallaystra. She may be slow and lazy, but she didn’t waste the boy completely, as you have done.”

“No!”
Basquel quailed, rising to his feet. “I’ve served no one but—”

“Yourself.” Lucifer sighed, throwing both arms up to bathe the quaking demon in a brilliant light that flared and vanished leaving only Basquel’s final scream behind.

Lucifer looked back at Michael then, smiling unpleasantly. “I know my terms with your Employer do not require you to obey Him. An oversight, I must confess, but who’d have thought so many of Heaven’s brightest surviving stars hid such potential for subversion?” Lucifer’s grin evaporated. “I still intend to win this wager, and then . . . you know the price for failure in
your
Master’s domain, as well as Basquel knew the price in mine. I look forward to seeing what a few millennia of confinement to this forsaken rock pile does to all that fierce self-confidence of yours, Michael.”

Before Michael could respond, Lucifer had vanished without so much as a glance at Hawk, who stared openmouthed at where he’d been, then turned to stare at Michael.

“Jake?” Hawk said. “Who was that? . . . Why’d he call you Michael?”

Michael pursed his lips, calculating the damage, and what might be done about it.

“What did they mean about your . . . master?” Hawk insisted.

“You and I must talk now,” Michael said quietly. “A very long talk, about a lot of things, but first, let’s find you something to eat. You’ll need a clearer head for this.”

He reached down to help the boy up, but whatever strength Hawk had possessed before seemed drained now. He could barely stand, so Michael bent down and picked him up as if he were a child.