"You're asking me me?" he answered. Again came that small shrug. "Special angels come for those who have a special destiny. And special demons target those same individuals in special ways."

"So there's more to come." I said. "He'll never give up."

He pondered this and indicated he couldn't answer. Just a little gesture with his hands, and a little lift to his eyebrows.

"What did you learn about him?" he asked.

"He chose the way of reason to attack me, old arguments, theories I'd read. He ventured into New Age philosophy, the testimony of those who've traveled out of body, claimed to have had near-death experiences. But he made a hash of it. The point is, he attacked my faith, through reason, rather than my shaky self-control."

He drifted into thought again, or into something like it. He looked to be about my age, I figured, but why he'd chosen to appear with red hair I couldn't guess, and it seemed his body was a little thicker all over than Malchiah's body. These things had to mean something but what? There might be rules to all this, a vast system of them, but it might be far too intricate and involved for me to understand.

He spoke up suddenly, bringing me back to the conversation.

"There's an old story," he said, "about a saint who once said, 'Even when the Prince of Darkness takes the form of an angel of light, you'll know him by his reptilian tail.'"

I laughed. "I've heard that story," I said. "I knew the saint once. Well, Ankanoc didn't have a reptilian tail."

"But he gave himself away, nevertheless. You pegged him for what he was early on-by his speech, the unkind remarks he made about human beings."

"That's exactly right," I said. "And also by the way in which he used the New Age viewpoints on questions of life and death and why we're here. What's fascinating about those viewpoints is that they're put forth by a whole variety of thinkers, that certain patterns of thought emerge from psychic pioneers all over the globe. But Ankanoc treated them as if they were dogma and he tried to ram that dogma home."

"Keep this in mind," he said. "No matter what he does and says, he will always give himself away. Demons are too full of hate and rage to be too clever. Don't overestimate them. That might be as bad as underestimating them. And if you call him by name, he must answer you, so he's not likely to try a disguise again."

"So you're saying that demons aren't as smart as angels."

"Perhaps they could be," he said, "but their state of mind interferes with their intelligence. It interferes with their observations, and their conclusions. It interferes with everything that they do. Theirs is a hideous predicament. They refuse to admit that they have lost."

That was beautiful. I liked it. I liked the puzzle of it and the truth of it.

"Do you know him personally?" I asked.

"Personally?" He burst out laughing. "Personally!" he said again with a gleaming smile. "Toby, you are a fascinating young man. No, I don't know him personally. I don't think he would give me the time of day." He laughed again. "He doesn't think he has to worry about me, a 'mere guardian angel.' It's Malchiah who drives him to the brink. He has a great deal to learn."

"So after work, when I'm asleep for instance, you and Ankanoc couldn't go to a cafe together in Angel Time for a drink."

"No," he said, laughing again. "And I'm not off work when you're sleeping, by the way. You probably know that very well."

"Were you there, with me in Rome?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. I'm always with you. I'm your guardian angel, I told you. I've been with you since before you were born."

"But in Rome, you couldn't come to me, appear to me, help me?" I asked.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Oh, not again. You angels keep turning the questions around."

"Don't we, though!" he whispered. "But now we both know one reason, at least, why you're so troubled. You're angry that I didn't come to you and help you. But Malchiah came, did he not?"

"Finally, yes," I responded. "He came when it was all over. But couldn't either of you have given me a hint that this creature was waylaying me with extraordinary means?"

He shrugged.

"I think you must bow to Malchiah's wishes," I said.

"That is one way of describing things," he said. "Malchiah is a Seraph. I am not."

"Why are you here now?" I asked.

"Because you need me and you want me to be here, and you're restless and your ideas of what to do next are unformed. That's part of it, at least. But I think it's time you started doing what you did after your last a.s.signment. So perhaps I should go."

"I wish you were always visible."

"You think that's what you wish. You have a short memory. I am not here to interfere with your being a man."

"Do Children of Angels get lonely?" I asked.

"You're lonely, aren't you?" he asked. "Do you think any amount of angelic company can take away human desire? We're here because you're human. You'll be a human being till the day you die."

"I wish I knew what you really looked like-!" I said.

The atmosphere around me instantly changed. It was as if some force had shaken the entire room, perhaps the entire building, and certainly my entire point of view.

The contents of the room faded. Gravity was gone. I wasn't standing anywhere. An immense sound filled my ears, a sound vaguely akin to the reverberations of a huge gong, and at the same time an unending white light filled my vision, shot through with great arcing splashes of gold. All I could see was this exploding light. There was a core to it, a pulsing, vibrant core, from which the enormous sweeps of gold emanated, and quite suddenly it was beyond all the language I had. I struggled in my brain for concepts to describe it, to seize it and hold on to it, but this was not possible. There was movement, tremendous movement, something like convolutions or eruptions. But the words mean nothing compared to what I saw. I had a momentous sense of recognition. recognition. I heard myself gasp aloud, "Yes," but this was over before it had begun. The light defined a s.p.a.ce too vast for me to see or grasp, and yet I saw it, saw its limitless reaches. The sound had reached a searing pitch. The light contracted and was gone. I heard myself gasp aloud, "Yes," but this was over before it had begun. The light defined a s.p.a.ce too vast for me to see or grasp, and yet I saw it, saw its limitless reaches. The sound had reached a searing pitch. The light contracted and was gone.

I lay on the floor, staring at the domed ceiling above me. I closed my eyes. What I could reproduce in my mind was nothing, nothing compared to what I'd just seen and heard.

"Forgive me," I whispered. "I should have known."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I WENT TO THE COMPUTER FIRST AND FOREMOST FOR WENT TO THE COMPUTER FIRST AND FOREMOST FOR the information I wanted about my time in Rome. the information I wanted about my time in Rome.

I wasn't surprised that I could not find the names of those I'd visited in any historical record.

But the horrid and cruel incident that had befallen Giovanni's son in Florence was recorded in more than one place. No names were given, of the man accused of blaspheming the images, or of his surviving family. But it was definitely the same incident and I was left with a strong memory of the elderly Giovanni, staring at me in the synagogue, after I'd stopped playing the lute.

I had no doubt that my mission had been amongst real people. And I read on amongst the various sources about the times.

I soon learned what I should never have forgotten, that Rome was sacked in 1527, at which time thousands of lives were lost. Some sources said the whole Jewish community was annihilated at this time.

This meant just about everyone I'd known in Rome might have died at this point in history, only some nine years or less after the time of my visitation.

I thanked G.o.d that I hadn't known this part of the story while I was there. But more importantly, I realized in an instant what I hadn't grasped in my entire selfish life: that it is imperative for us in this world not to know for certain what the future holds. There could be no present if the future were known.

I might have known this intellectually at the age of twelve. But now it struck me with a mystical force. And it reminded me that I was dealing with creatures in Malchiah and Shmarya who knew much more about the future than I wanted to know. To be angry with them or resentful of them because they lived with this burden made no sense.

There were many things I wanted to ponder.

Instead I typed a brief and concise account of all that had happened to me since my last "report." I wrote down not only the story of my adventure in Rome, but also the story of my meeting with Liona and Toby, and what had taken place.

It occurred to me as I finished that there were distinct reasons why my second a.s.signment had been different from my first. In the first adventure, I'd been sent to do something fairly straightforward-save a family and a community from an unjust charge. I'd solved the problem presented to me with duplicity, but there had not been the slightest doubt in my mind that it was the right path to take.

Maybe angels couldn't encourage lies as I had done in Angel Time, but they had let me do it, and I felt that I knew why.

Many in this world have lied to save themselves from evil and injustice. Who would not have lied to save Jews in our own time from genocide at the hands of the Third Reich?

But my second a.s.signment had involved no such situation. I had sought to use the truth to solve the problems confronting me, and found it a very complex and hard thing to do indeed.

So was it safe to a.s.sume each of my missions would be more complex than the last? I was just beginning to reflect on these things, when finally I broke off.

It was noon. I'd been awake for ten hours, and writing for most of that. I'd eaten nothing. I might start seeing angels who weren't there.

I put on my jacket and went down for lunch in the Mission Inn Restaurant, and found myself sitting there pondering again after the dishes had been cleared away.

I was drinking my last cup of coffee when I noticed a young man at another table staring at me, though when I fixed on him, he pretended to be reading his paper.

I let myself stare at him for a good while. He seemed neither angel nor dybbuk. Just a man. He was younger than me, and as I watched him, he looked at me more than once, and finally got up from the table and left.

I wasn't surprised to see him in the lobby, seated in one of the large chairs, with his eyes turned towards the restaurant entrance.

I memorized what I saw: he was young, maybe four or five years my junior. He had short brown wavy hair and almost pretty blue eyes. He'd worn dark-rimmed gla.s.ses when he'd been reading. And he was dressed a bit nattily in a well-fitted brown corduroy Norfolk jacket, with a white turtleneck sweater, and gray pants. There had been a certain vulnerability to his expression, an eagerness, that completely negated any question in my mind of danger, but I didn't like it that I was being noticed by anybody, and I wondered who he was and why he'd been there.

If he was another angel on the case, I wanted to know. And if he was another devil, well, he didn't have the presence or the confidence of Ankanoc and I couldn't figure his approach.

The question of danger was a real one. Lucky the Fox had always had his antennae out for those who might be watching him, whether sent by his enemies or his boss.

But this man simply did not look the part of a dangerous individual at all. No cop, or agent of The Right Man, would have stared so obviously at me. Another a.s.sa.s.sin would have never made himself known. If anything the incident served to make me aware of how very safe I felt, though I still had some lingering anxiety about having told my real name to The Right Man.

I forgot about it, found a quiet place on a patio outside, where the sun was pleasantly warm and the breeze cool, and I called Liona.

The sound of her voice almost brought tears to my eyes. And only as we chatted did I realize it had been five days since she and Toby had flown home.

"Believe me," I said, "I wanted to call you before now. I've been thinking about you both since you left. I want to see you again and soon."

She wanted that too, she said. All I had to do was name the time and place. She explained she'd been to her lawyer with all the legal doc.u.ments I'd given her. Her father was pleased that I'd taken responsibility for my son in this way.

"But Toby, there's something that's been bothering me," she explained. "Do your cousins down here know you're alive?"

"No, they don't," I admitted. "And if I come back there, well, I feel I have to see them."

"There's something I didn't tell you before, but I think you should know. About three years ago, when you were declared..."

"Legally dead?" I offered.

"Yes, well, your cousin Matt took all your old things out of storage, and he came by and gave us some of your old books. Toby, he knew, at least I had told him that Toby was your son."

"That's good, Liona, I'm glad. I don't mind at all about Matt knowing. I can't blame you for telling him."

"Well, there's more to it than that. You know my father, you know he's a doctor first and foremost."

"Yes?"

"He asked Matt for permission to run some DNA tests on the evidence taken from your mom's apartment. Dad said he wanted it for medical reasons, to know if there were any medical problems in the family that Toby might..."

"I understand." I went cold all over. I struggled to keep my voice steady. "That's fine. That's completely reasonable," I lied. "Matt said yes, and your father tested my family's DNA and Little Toby's DNA." Which means there is a record of DNA close to that of Lucky the Fox in a file. Which means there is a record of DNA close to that of Lucky the Fox in a file. My heart was skipping a beat or two. "You're not trying to tell me there was some congenital problem-." My heart was skipping a beat or two. "You're not trying to tell me there was some congenital problem-."

"No. I just wanted you to know. We thought you were dead, Toby."

"Liona, don't worry. It's all fine. And I'm glad you did it. Your father knows for sure that Little Toby is mine."

"Well, that was part of it, too," she confessed. "He has proof of affinity, as they call it, and that will have to do."

"Listen, my love," I said. "I have some work to do. I have to talk to my employer. And when I find out what my schedule is, I'll call you right away. Now I'm on a prepaid cell here and you have this number. Call me whenever you want."

"Oh, I won't bother you, Toby," she insisted.

"If I don't pick up, it means I can't," I said.

"Toby?"

"Yes."

"I want you to know something, but I don't want it to frighten you."

"Of course. What?"

"I love you," she said.

I let out a long sigh. "Am I ever glad to hear that," I whispered. "Because my heart is in your hands."

I clicked off.

I was acutely happy and acutely distressed. She loved me. And I loved her, and then all the other dark truths intruded, faster than I could name them or recognize them. No one tracking Lucky the Fox had ever obtained a sample of DNA, but now Lucky the Fox and Toby O'Dare were known to be one and the same to The Right Man, and there was DNA of Toby O'Dare's family in a file in New Orleans. And I had foolishly told The Right Man that I had come from New Orleans.

"There are things you have to do," Shmarya had said in so many words, and he had been right. I couldn't do anything about this DNA question, and indeed, it might not matter, considering how my various. .h.i.ts had been accomplished, but there were other things I could do and ought to do promptly.

I checked out of the inn and drove to Los Angeles.

My apartment was as I'd left it, with the doors wide open to the patio, and the jacaranda blossoms still littered the quiet street below.