Chapter Four

It was four and a half hours to grandma's, and meanwhile the three Graces amused themselves by watching Lord of the Rings on the little transportable DVD player.

"Oh great," Violet groaned when the last strains of ethereal music faded away, "we forgot the joystick!"

"Woopeee!" Andy yelled and Violet pouted to herself. Jules was hopping around Deker, who rested his forehead in his hands.

Mr. Grace, of course, saw none of this. He thought Violet was waving to a passing car as she saw Jake flying above them, the sun glinting on his colorful wings.

"It's lunch time," he suddenly declared. There was a chorus of "Yay!" as Mr. Grace pulled the car into the parking lot of a secondhand diner.

"Morely's Diner," read Andy. He reached over and shook Violet, who'd fallen asleep during the five minutes everything had been silent.

The Graces tumbled out of the car and walked, stretching their cramped limbs, into the diner. As soon as they opened the door, the smells of burning burgers, grease and cigarette smoke met their noses.

"It's STINKS IN HERE!" Violet shouted as they slipped into a dirty little table in the corner.

"Shhh!" Mr. Grace quickly hushed his daughter, who picked up a broken crayon and began scribbling on the paper tablecloth.

Several heads turned. "Did you hear that little girl?" asked an old man of his wife.

"Aw, I think she's a purty little thang!" his wife replied in a high-pitched voice. Violet looked embarrassed for a moment, then gave the old woman a pompous smile.

At that moment a beefy-lipped waiter came to the table, holding a notepad. "What'll it be, yous guys?" he asked in a decidedly New York voice.

"I want a slushie!" Violet shouted. Deker frowned at her.

"Sorry, dollface, we don't sale slushies here, we do have sodas." The waiter looked as though he'd be a good criminal in one of those police movies. He'd be the leader of a gang of robbers. Violet stared at him half in fascination and half out of anger that he had called her "dollface".

"We'll just have four hot dogs and four ice waters," Mr. Grace said, wondering what had happened to his menu. Deker chanced to look down at the dirty red carpet, littered with paper scraps, and saw Jules with the menu propped up in front of him, reading curiously.

"Four hawt dawgs and four ice wateh's, comin' up," said the gangster waiter, walking off with a bored expression on his shady face.

"Hey, how can I order a non-vegetarian hamburger, no tomato?" asked Jules in his high, shrill little voice. Deker's face looked pained for one second.

"I'll be right back," he mumbled. He caught Jules up and walked quickly through the cloud of cigarette smoke to the bathroom.

"Andy, you look green, are you okay?" Violet asked.

"I think I'm gonna barf," Andy moaned. "I wanna get out of here," he muttered to his dad. Mr. Grace didn't look too peachy himself.

"Wait til we have our lunch, and then we'll drive on to grandma's," Mr. Grace murmured back.

"How did you get in the diner," Deker demanded, setting Jules on the bathroom sink and facing him, hands on hips.

"I wanted to have lunch!" Jules squeaked.

"Tomatoes don't have lunch!" Deker snapped, right as the door opened and a skinny teenage boy walked in, his baggy blue jeans hung with chains and a white skull painted on his shirt.

"Outta my way, freak," said the boy. Jules looked concerned as the boy pushed Deker aside and washed his dirty nails under the tap. "Don't you push my Author around!" Jules shouted, hopping up and down. Of course, the boy didn't see or hear him, but he saw the look Deker gave the invisible tomato and thought it was directed to him.

"What are you lookin' at?" said the boy. His hair was dyed blue and cut into a mohawk.

"I'm looking at my character!" Deker muttered. The boy slowly turned around.

"Your WHAT?"

"Here's yer food, enjoy," said the gangster waiter, setting four slimy hot dogs on the table and giving Violet's cheek a pinch.

Mr. Grace stared down at his lunch as though it was a rotten fish. "Is this what they call food?" he wondered to himself.

Andy cautiously took a bite. "WHAT DID THEY PUT IN HERE?" he yelled, spitting out the hot dog. "Last week's garbage?!" Mr. Grace tried to shush him, but he was too late. Everyone in the diner turned around and started whispering.

"Who does that boy think he is, I think the food's real good!"

Violet happily ate her hot dog, not seeming to notice the horrible taste, and sipped at her ice water.

"Try another taste," Mr. Grace told his son. Andy screwed up his eyes and took another bite. His face turned white, then green, then blue. He clapped his hands over his mouth, rushed to the bathroom, and locked himself in the biggest stall.

Deker moved to the sink and tried to scoop Jules up, but the feisty tomato was hopping all around, shouting in his squeaky voice. "You can't push my Author and get away with it, lemme at him!"

"Shut your mouth," Deker hissed. Jules grumpily jumped to his shoulder. Deker was turning to go when the punky teenager grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. "You wanna make me?" he snarled.

"I wasn't talking to you," Deker replied, his voice low and menacing. Andy groaned and laid down on the floor. "What's going on?" he asked weakly. The hot dog bits hadn't set well with him and he needed a moment to calm his churning stomach.

"There ain't no one else here, freak," said the punk. Jules whimpered. "You'd better take that back or I'll sock ya one."

Deker's black eyes narrowed and he pushed the punk's hands off his shirt. Without realizing it he lapsed into the language Daimon spoke, high-brow speech that flowed off the tongue with grace. "I will take back nothing, for there is nothing to take back," he told the punk to his face. The punk gave a low growl and before Deker knew what was happening, the strange boy's fist came hurtling forward and struck him in the jaw. Deker gave a beast-like snarl and fell on the boy, pummeling his face with his knuckles.

"Deker?!" Andy said, alarmed. He heard grunting and slapping noises, and hard breathing. He also heard Jules giving frightened squeaks rather like a mouse. Then he peeked through the stall door and saw some weird teenager boy on the floor, Deker sitting on his chest, beating the tar out of him. Then he heard the metallic whisper of Daimon's sword and his powerful voice filled the bathroom.

"Give me the word, Author, and I will run to your aid!" the gallant knight cried. Andy felt the tickling heat and Caspar materialized in the shady corner, beside the hand dryer.

"Beat him, beat him, punch him to death," the villain chanted, but whether he was rooting for Deker or the punk, Andy could not be sure. Andy, never one for fights, ran out of his stall, letting the door bang open, grabbed Jules the Tomato and ran out into the diner to get his father.

"Don't you ever treat me that way again," Deker said through clenched teeth, bruising the boy's face. He could feel Caspar's pleasure as he punched the punk again and again, who squirmed helplessly under him.

"My Author, abate!" cried Daimon, sheathing his sword and trying to pull Deker off the boy. "King Luther would not be pleased with your violent actions!" Deker whirled around, his eyes blazing, his glasses cracked, his thick mop of hair tousled and damp. Daimon staggered back at the rage seething in Deker's eyes; he could feel Caspar give a slow grin behind him. Suddenly Deker sighed and got off the boy. He offered his hand to the punk, mumbling an apology. "I should not have acted thus, and for that I am-" But before he could say anything else, the blue-haired boy dug his shoulder into Deker's stomach, pushing him aside. Deker fell and cut his cheek on the sharp metal edge of the hand dryer. Caspar laughed madly, Daimon cried out in horror and caught Deker as he fell back in astonishment, and the punk was lunging for Deker again when the door crashed open and Mr. Grace strode in.

"What's going on here?" he shouted. Violet came trailing in after him, even though it was a boy's room. She saw the blood dripping down her brother's cheek and gave a cry of anger.

"Who did that to you?" she yelled, and would have attacked the punk, who was slinking ashamedly out the door, herself had not Daimon caught her up and held her tightly. Andy stood in the doorway, shrinking back as the punk brushed past him, Jules sitting in a squishy ball on his shoulder. Mr. Grace did not see Caspar disappear, nor did he see Daimon grip his Author's shoulder before vanishing into the thin air. He wet a paper towel and pressed it to Deker's cheek. Deker winced but didn't say anything. The Grace family paid for their cheesy meal, trooped out to the car, and drove along the freeway in a sober silence. Andy played his CDs and stroked his kittens, Violet half-heartedly tried to play with her dolls and wave to Jake flying in the cloudless blue sky, and Deker sat huddled in his seat by the window, letting the hot wind slip through his hair, typing furiously on his laptop. Andy wondered how many battles there were sofar in his novel as Mr. Grace pulled the car into a booming city along the way and stopped in a church parking lot. He turned around and looked at his oldest son.

Deker tapped his fingers against the keys and sighed. He met his father's eyes square and Mr. Grace saw the pain and the sorrow etched on Deker's face.

"What I did was wrong, I should have walked away," Deker said. Violet and Andy turned to look at their brother. His voice was unusually soft and held a haunted strain to it. "Daimon was right, King Luther would not be pleased." Deker whispered this to himself. Jules sat upon his shoulder, quiet for once. Mr. Grace gave a smile and started up the car again.

"I see you are truly repentant," said Mr. Grace, driving straight for a Golden Corral. Violet and Andy gave each other a high five. "We'll say no more about it."

The taut austere expression in Deker's black eyes left, and he suddenly felt like whooping. He leaned his head out the window, nearly losing his glasses to the blast of wind, and cried "WAAAHOOOO!" to anyone that cared to listen.

The Graces, after a pleasantly decent lunch, drove on and on. Nothing more was said about Deker's fight, it had been a release of pent-up fury at something and Mr. Grace understood that. He knew his son, although odd and dark-natured, was a good boy deep down inside, it just took some fighting to find it. He had faith Deker would fight his anger and melancholy, and prove to be valiant a knight as his character Daimon he sometimes talked eagerly about.

Andy was just giving the kittens the last of his tuna in the travel can when the tall trees and curving roads began. Half an hour later, the Grace's car pulled into a cottage surrounded by pines and stopped in the driveway.

Violet came blasting out of the car. "GRANDMA," she shouted in her loud piercing voice, "WE'RE HERE!!!"