Divine Evil

watching the grass grow.”
    “Easy for you to say,” he muttered, mimicking her. “You can go back to New York whenever you want.”
    “That's true.” And children, she thought, no matter how hard they strained for independence, were stuck. “Itwon't be long before you can decide for yourself. L.A., right?”
    “Yeah. I'm getting the hell out of here.” He was staring at her legs again, at the way the frayed hem of her shorts cut high on her thighs. “Have you been there?”
    “Yeah, once or twice. It's not really my style. You'll have to let me know what you think of it once you get there. Make a fist again.” She turned a page in the sketchpad, then shook her head. “You know, what I think I want is from the shoulder up, kind of like a tree shooting up from the roots. You want to take your shirt off? It's warm enough.”
    He looked at her, secrets playing in his eyes as he slowly pulled the T-shirt over his head. She wanted him. He knew it.
    What Clare saw was a slim, angry boy on the teetering brink of manhood. More, she saw a subject, a slender arm, surprisingly roped with muscle, its power still untapped.
    “This is going to work.” She scooted down from the table. “Let me pose it. I won't ask you to hold it long. It'll get uncomfortable.”
    She took his arm, cupping a hand under his elbow as she lifted it, bent it. Then she closed her fingers over his to make a fist again.
    “Now, if you can hold it out at this angle…. Good, now put some tension into it. Terrific. You're a natural.” As she stepped back, she glanced down to the pendant he wore. It was silver, in an odd geometric shape. Like a pentagram, she thought, and looked up at him. “What's this? A good luck charm?”
    His free hand closed over it protectively. “Sort of.”
    Afraid she'd embarrassed him, she picked up her pad again and began to sketch.
    She worked for an hour, letting him take frequentbreaks to rest his arm. A time or two she caught him watching her speculatively, with a much too adult gleam in his eyes. She passed it off, a little amused, a little flattered that he might have developed a small crush on her.
    “That's great, Ernie, really. I'd like to start working in clay whenever you've got another couple of hours to spare.”
    “Okay.”
    “I'll get you some money.”
    Alone, he flexed his arm and wandered around the garage. When he spotted the sculpture in the corner, he stopped short. Once again, his fingers closed around the inverted pentagram as he studied the half man, half beast she had created out of metal and nightmares.
    It was a sign, he thought, his breath coming quickly. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached out to stroke it worshipfully. She had been brought here for him. The rituals, the offerings had met with favor. The Dark Lord had delivered her to him. Now he had only to wait for the right time and place to take her.
    “What do you think of it?”
    Cautiously, Ernie dragged on his shirt before he turned. Clare was standing behind him. She was staring, as he had been, at the sculpture. He could smell her, soap and sweat.
    “It has power.”
    She was surprised to hear the opinion from a seventeen-year-old. Intrigued, she turned her head and stared at him. “Ever thought about becoming an art critic?”
    “Why did you make this?”
    “I couldn't seem to help myself.”
    The answer was perfect. “You'll do more.”
    She glanced back at the heap of metal on her welding table. “Yes, it seems that I will.” Shaking herself, she held out some bills. “I really appreciate your posing for me.”
    “I liked it. I like you.”
    “Good. I like you, too.” When the phone rang, she turned to the kitchen doorway. “Gotta go. See you soon, Ernie.”
    “Yeah.” He wiped his damp palms on the thighs of his jeans. “I'll see you real soon.”
    Clare opened the refrigerator and picked up the phone simultaneously. “Hello.”
    As she rooted out a hot dog, mustard, pickles, and a soft drink, wet, heavy breathing sounded in her ear. She grinned, stuck the hot dog in the microwave, and began to breathe back, occasionally adding a husky “yes” or “oh yes!” After setting the timer, she popped open the bottle. “Oh, my God, don't stop.” She finished with a long, wavering moan.
    “Was it good for you?” the low, masculine voice asked.
    “Wonderful. Incredible. The best.” She took a long swallow of Pepsi. “Jean-Paul, you give great phone.” She took the hot dog out of the