without slowing.
“How’d it break its wing?” Benjamin pressed, waiting impatiently for Joby to climb above the first branch so he could follow.
“It tripped on my underwear!” Joby answered in exasperation. “Don’t ask questions, Sir Benjamin! Just
climb
! You wanna get us both eaten?”
From inside the house, Miriam watched the elaborate play of little muscles across the small bare backs of her son and his new friend as they scrambled up into the tree’s higher branches and fell into earnest conversation. She was still astonished at how quickly they had fallen head over heels into friendship. An after-school fight over some trivial violation of boyish honor had brought them together. Benjamin had bloodied Joby’s nose, Joby had blackened Benjamin’s eye. Two days later, Joby had knighted Benjamin on King Arthur’s behalf, and they’d been inseparable ever since. Boys, she thought with a smile. Go figure.
Besides the boundless energy native to most children, they shared a natural athleticism, vivid imaginations, and a predilection to laugh at anything with the least potential for humorous interpretation. But, while Joby was a born leader, Benjamin was content to follow, constantly asking questionsfor which Joby happily invented answers. While Joby talked, laughed, and decreed incessantly, Benjamin tended toward thoughtful silences. Even their appearance was day and night. Deeply tanned, with large brown eyes and nearly white-blond hair, Benjamin seemed a golden noon beside the lunar radiance of Joby’s pale skin, blue eyes, and midnight locks. Miriam always enjoyed seeing them together. They seemed two halves of some marvelous whole.
“Hey you,” Frank said softly, coming up to give her a squeeze.
“Have a good nap?” she smiled, still watching the boys.
“Best nap I ever had—since the last one.” His eyes followed hers. “Those two spend half their lives up there. Think we should build ’em a tree fort?”
“Let’s not encourage them,” she said. “Half the time, they don’t even hold on to anything.”
“Boys are climbers,” Frank smiled, “and not half as fragile as us old folks. We don’t want to make a wimp out of him.” He squeezed her again. “Worst thing could happen to a boy. Lot worse than fallin’ out of a tree.”
“I’m sure you’re right, dear,” Miriam said, turning with a flirtatious smile to slide her arms around his waist. “Maybe we should find him a sister, so I’d have another wimpy girl to keep me company.”
“Mmmm,” he purred, leaning in to kiss her. “Wanna twist my arm?”
Going through Williamson’s first report, Lucifer had to admit that a few of his observations might be useful, though he had no intention of saying so. One shred of acknowledgment was all it took to render such creatures utterly unmanageable.
He went to the transmission obelisk beside his office door, placed a hand on its glassy surface, closed his eyes, and focused on a name.
Kallaystra . . . Kallays—
“Bright One?”
Lucifer opened his eyes to find Kallaystra standing serenely at his side, looking, as always, like the wholesome ingenue she wasn’t. Along with its fiery fantasies of Hell, the mortal world seemed to forget that demons were nothing more or less than angels swept to earth with Lucifer after their failed campaign against the Creator. Driven by rage or despair at their devalued state, some had fallen into madness, making themselves animal and ugly, or wandered off to become solitary rogues. But many, like Kallaystra, had remained as lovely as ever—on the surface at least. Kallaystra was one of very few, however, who still came readily when Lucifer called, one of even fewerhe still dared rely upon. That, and the fact that she was an immortal being like himself, not some damned flake of once-human dryer lint like Williamson or Lindwald, earned her a very different degree of courtesy.
“Thank you for coming so swiftly, Kallaystra. I hope my
“How’d it break its wing?” Benjamin pressed, waiting impatiently for Joby to climb above the first branch so he could follow.
“It tripped on my underwear!” Joby answered in exasperation. “Don’t ask questions, Sir Benjamin! Just
climb
! You wanna get us both eaten?”
From inside the house, Miriam watched the elaborate play of little muscles across the small bare backs of her son and his new friend as they scrambled up into the tree’s higher branches and fell into earnest conversation. She was still astonished at how quickly they had fallen head over heels into friendship. An after-school fight over some trivial violation of boyish honor had brought them together. Benjamin had bloodied Joby’s nose, Joby had blackened Benjamin’s eye. Two days later, Joby had knighted Benjamin on King Arthur’s behalf, and they’d been inseparable ever since. Boys, she thought with a smile. Go figure.
Besides the boundless energy native to most children, they shared a natural athleticism, vivid imaginations, and a predilection to laugh at anything with the least potential for humorous interpretation. But, while Joby was a born leader, Benjamin was content to follow, constantly asking questionsfor which Joby happily invented answers. While Joby talked, laughed, and decreed incessantly, Benjamin tended toward thoughtful silences. Even their appearance was day and night. Deeply tanned, with large brown eyes and nearly white-blond hair, Benjamin seemed a golden noon beside the lunar radiance of Joby’s pale skin, blue eyes, and midnight locks. Miriam always enjoyed seeing them together. They seemed two halves of some marvelous whole.
“Hey you,” Frank said softly, coming up to give her a squeeze.
“Have a good nap?” she smiled, still watching the boys.
“Best nap I ever had—since the last one.” His eyes followed hers. “Those two spend half their lives up there. Think we should build ’em a tree fort?”
“Let’s not encourage them,” she said. “Half the time, they don’t even hold on to anything.”
“Boys are climbers,” Frank smiled, “and not half as fragile as us old folks. We don’t want to make a wimp out of him.” He squeezed her again. “Worst thing could happen to a boy. Lot worse than fallin’ out of a tree.”
“I’m sure you’re right, dear,” Miriam said, turning with a flirtatious smile to slide her arms around his waist. “Maybe we should find him a sister, so I’d have another wimpy girl to keep me company.”
“Mmmm,” he purred, leaning in to kiss her. “Wanna twist my arm?”
Going through Williamson’s first report, Lucifer had to admit that a few of his observations might be useful, though he had no intention of saying so. One shred of acknowledgment was all it took to render such creatures utterly unmanageable.
He went to the transmission obelisk beside his office door, placed a hand on its glassy surface, closed his eyes, and focused on a name.
Kallaystra . . . Kallays—
“Bright One?”
Lucifer opened his eyes to find Kallaystra standing serenely at his side, looking, as always, like the wholesome ingenue she wasn’t. Along with its fiery fantasies of Hell, the mortal world seemed to forget that demons were nothing more or less than angels swept to earth with Lucifer after their failed campaign against the Creator. Driven by rage or despair at their devalued state, some had fallen into madness, making themselves animal and ugly, or wandered off to become solitary rogues. But many, like Kallaystra, had remained as lovely as ever—on the surface at least. Kallaystra was one of very few, however, who still came readily when Lucifer called, one of even fewerhe still dared rely upon. That, and the fact that she was an immortal being like himself, not some damned flake of once-human dryer lint like Williamson or Lindwald, earned her a very different degree of courtesy.
“Thank you for coming so swiftly, Kallaystra. I hope my
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