The Book of Joby (103 page)

Merlin could no longer help closing his eyes and looking down in shame. Michael had been right all along. His meddling had brought them all to this. Given Kallaystra’s choice of costume, he thought he knew what they intended. They were going to make him fail Arthur again, and in exactly the same way. They would think it deliciously cruel to repeat every detail as perfectly as possible.

“No need to look so sad,” Lucifer assured him. “I’ll be here to take on Joby’s care and feeding while you’re gone. Just because I’m administering his wounds doesn’t mean I’d let him suffer them alone. I am compassionate that way. In fact, I’m such a softy that, though I’m now intimately aware of nearly every child of dawn in this village, I’m not going to destroy any of them. They’re Joby’s people after all. Why not let him do it?”

“Joby comes,” Kallaystra said at Merlin’s shoulder. “He’s just outside the inn.”

“Alas, it’s showtime,” sighed the wickedly lovely boy. “And, while I did promise you could watch, I cannot have you meddling anymore.”

In the instant left him, Merlin mashed his own tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood, and spat on the floor at the fallen angel’s feet. Praying that Lucifer would simply take it for a final gesture of contempt, he snarled, “I defy you to the—”

“Last,” Lucifer finished as Merlin’s body went rigid and collapsed. “You’ve made that stupidly clear several times now.” Lucifer and Kallaystra came to gaze down at Merlin’s frozen but quite conscious form. “Not to worry,” drawled the boy. “I’ll make certain they notice you’re not dead. I suspect they’ll take you to that lovely hospital in Santa Rosa where poor Lance breathed his last—again. They’ve lots of specialists in stroke and coma there. Your body will receive the best of care, and, of course, I wouldn’t dream of leaving your poor, imprisoned mind without a ringside seat here on the home front.” Merlin felt his conscious self yanked rudely from his body. “Crystal caves are so passé.” The boy grimaced in distaste. “Let’s try something more in vogue.”

Seconds later, Merlin found himself standing in a vast, deserted shopping mall. Irritating muzak wafted toward him from somewhere high above, and every plate-glass window for as far as he could see held bank upon bank of television screens. It seemed that all the stores sold only televisions here, none of which showed anything but Taubolt. It was all far bleaker than the crystal cave had ever been.

But Lucifer had goofed again; for Merlin could still feel the tiny thread
that tugged between his spirit here and that tiny spot of blood he’d left on Joby’s floor. It would take quite a while to follow that gossamer trail back to consciousness through all the labyrinthine knots that separated Merlin from the bit of himself that Lucifer’s spell had missed, but there was nothing to distract him from the task, and he set his mind to it immediately, hoping Joby wouldn’t pick this moment to wash his floors.

“Six months?”
Kallaystra shrieked. “It would be impossible in twice the time!”

“Nonetheless, those are his instructions.” Basquel shrugged, his satisfaction so poorly concealed that Kallaystra longed to make cinders of him then and there. “He holds
you
responsible, I fear, for having overlooked the boy’s true paternity for so
many
years.”

“Malcephalon was still in charge then!” Kallaystra protested.

“Ah, but he’s not here to blame now, is he.” Basquel smiled.

“Joby and the girl were estranged!” Kallaystra insisted angrily. “She was three thousand miles away, and out of his life forever, we assumed. What reason was there to waste resources watching her and that pathetic alcoholic when Joby was the import—”

“What
reason
?” Basquel interrupted, sounding scandalized. “This was Guinevere, Kallaystra! The love of Joby’s life! Of both his lives!”

“Lucifer didn’t say that to us
then
!” she snapped, forgetting to contain herself.

“Surely you are not blaming our master,” Basquel said, hopeful.

“Of course not,” she said through gritted teeth. “I mean only that we
did
and
do exactly
as we’re told to.”

“Ah. Well, that’s wise,” Basquel said. “And I’d find some way to do exactly as you’re told this time too. You know how touchy he’s been since deciding to don flesh like all the rest of us,” Basquel pretended to commiserate. “The fact that now, with Merlin gone, his role as GB leaves him the only one still forced to bear that indignity has not helped his patience either.”

Daring to say no more in front of Lucifer’s latest tool, Kallaystra simply glared at Basquel, wondering if he were really so stupid that he could stand there grinning at her and not see what happened to their master’s
favorites
as soon as something made him angry. Having ridden her into the ground, he now clearly meant to tack his own poor planning to her back and drive her off into the wilderness like a sacrificial goat. It would serve Basquel right to get her canned, and end up tied to this post in her place.

“Even if I succeed,” Kallaystra fumed, “does he think no one will notice such a drastic transformation and grow suspicious of the little changeling in their midst?”

“I don’t think he cares about suspicion now. Even Joby knows we’re here. All our master cares is that the boy is rendered pliable in time. Those around him will likely chalk it up to the effect of grief and trauma anyway. Just watch him like a hawk, as they say, and do that voodoo that you do so well.” Basquel grinned in smug amusement.

“If I whisper in his ear night and day without ceasing, I will be lucky to achieve half of what our master asks,” she growled. Lucifer was clearly setting her up to fail despite all she’d done to get them here. That he had sent a buffoon like Basquel to deliver these instructions was ample proof of his displeasure. But could he really be so stupid as to discard the sharpest tool left in his shed just to satisfy this latest fit of pique?

“Such strategic matters require
direct
communication,” Kallaystra said, turning her back on Basquel to go take her life into her hands. “I must speak with him myself.”

“Good luck,” Basquel said cheerfully. “I shall miss you when you’re gone.”

Yes, you will, you rotund turd,
she thought.
Be careful what you wish for.

Donaldson hung up the telephone in a state of delirious shock. After reading Mansfield’s letter, he had called immediately to make sure it wasn’t some kind of hoax. Mansfield had hardly been effusive, rudely warning Donaldson that if he screwed up this time it would be the end of him entirely. But it was true! Donaldson was being promoted to deputy sheriff, and four officers were to be transferred to Taubolt under his command! His substation was even being enlarged to contain a jail! It made Donaldson’s head spin!

If anything, he’d been expecting to be replaced at any moment since pissing Hamilton off with his concessions to Joby Peterson in December. That had been a big mistake. As intimidating as Peterson’s old-school crew had seemed, it had not taken Donaldson long to figure out who was actually going to call up Mansfield and make trouble. Hamilton had been on his butt like a boil ever since.

Far worse, the town’s periodic arsons, muggings, and vandalisms hadn’t fallen off at all, yet he’d apprehended not a single likely suspect yet. Whoever was behind these crimes was unbelievably slick. Never any witness descriptions of the perp. Never a shred of physical evidence—except the crime itself. It was beginning to seem downright unnatural. Had detectives sent out
from the county seat not been as stumped as Donaldson himself, he was sure his ass would have been grass months earlier. Nonetheless, it seemed that somehow he had not just survived, but thrived!

He got up to do a little two-step around his chair, still clutching Mansfield’s letter, which, of course, had made the price tag for this miraculous boon quite clear. Donaldson was expected to restore
complete
tranquillity to Taubolt’s crime-ridden streets and do it quickly—or there’d be hell to pay. But Donaldson was hardly worried. With four officers in a town this size, who’d get away with anything? The law was going to have some teeth around here now, baby!

His private celebration was still just warming up when he heard someone enter the substation’s outer office. He went out to be of service feeling so good that he even managed not to lose his smile when he saw that it was Agnes Hamilton.

“What can I do for you this fine day, Ms. Hamilton?” he asked.

“You seem very chipper,” she said dryly.

“Yessiree!” Donaldson grinned. “Spring is in the air! I can feel it!”

“Then I surmise you’ve heard from Sheriff Mansfield,” Hamilton said crisply.

The smile slipped from Donaldson’s face. How could she possibly . . . Then it all dropped into place. Hamilton’s campaign for more police presence was hardly any secret.

“That’s right,” said Hamilton with obvious satisfaction. “You’ve me to thank for your sudden windfall,
Sheriff
Donaldson. When Mansfield called to let me know you’d received his letter, I just had to come by and congratulate you personally, and say how much I look forward to working
more closely
with you in the future.”

“Well, hi, Rose!” Laura smiled. “Welcome back. How was your trip?”

“It was fine. We saw some neat campuses,” she lied, unable to tell Hawk’s mother anything about the Garden Coast, “but I still plan on going to Brown.”

“Arthur will be glad to hear that,” Laura said. “But he’s not here now, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” Rose said. “I just left him in town. I’ve come to see you, actually.”

“How nice.” Laura smiled. “I’d love to hear more about your college tour.”

“And I’d love to tell you sometime,” Rose said, more sincerely than Laura knew, “but I’ve come to talk with you about . . . about Hawk.”

“Oh?” Laura said, her smile fading. “Please, come in.” As they headed for the living room, Laura asked, “Are you two having trouble?”

“I’m not sure,” Rose said, taking a chair beside the windows. “But I think Hawk is. I’m pretty worried about him.”

“I see,” said Laura as she sat down on the couch. “I am too, Rose. I might as well just say that. He’s been terribly depressed since what happened in November. It meant so much to him when you and the others came over after the memorial service. He was a great deal better for a week or two, but then . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “He just started slipping even deeper than before. Nothing I or Joby try seems to help at all. Then, after Solomon’s stroke last week . . .” She groaned, covering her eyes. “It just never seems to stop these days! It hit Joby pretty hard, but Arthur! It’s been like watching Arthur smothered right before my eyes. I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Rose, having hoped she’d just caught Hawk at a bad moment in town that morning. “That’s how he was with me too. I came back full of things to tell him, and he acted like it all just caused him pain. I ran into Nacho later, and he said Hawk’s not even speaking to him anymore. He was pretty irritated, actually, and he’s not the only one. It’s as if Hawk’s
trying
to shove his friends away.”

“I’m so sad to hear that,” Laura said wearily. “I’d hoped . . . Maybe I should take him to a therapist or something. But I haven’t been able to find one any closer than Santa Rosa, and I just didn’t want to make him feel . . .”

“Sick,” Rose finished sympathetically. “I think he is, though,” she said quietly. “And I think something pretty drastic needs to happen, or I’m not sure what he might do to himself once he’s managed to shove all of us far enough out of his life.”