One glance at Brother Zachariah's sweating face told Match that Marjorie's instincts might be correct. For hundreds of years, the Order's members had grown old and died in their little houses, waiting for an Armageddon that hadn't come. Now that the day had crept closer, the only members left were a handful of minor magicians and Match.

He felt the ancient power simmering in his blood and in the distance, angels shouted at him. His duty required him to strike down the demon and this deceptive gate to hell, yet his heart went back to all the times when Marjorie held his hand during thunderstorms and bought his favorite cereal with her own money the nights when his mom couldn't make it home.

"She's not your sister." Zachariah pointed a finger at Match. "Don't listen to her — or to me for that matter. I've told you not to use your power all this time because we've been afraid you'd turn out like Marjorie. She renounced the light, but you don't have to do the same, Brother."

"He's a coward." Marjorie's skin crackled from the magic leaking out of the gate.

Match bounced the ball and weighed his choices. He could follow Marjorie through the gate to discover what sort of reception he'd get, or he could stand with Brother Zachariah to face the Final Battle with a handful of worn out men and women.

In his hands, the ball felt more solid than the red on Marjorie's fingernails or the stillness of Eddie's charred bones as they dropped out of the gate. Zachariah sweated, but remained silent.

"You're right to keep me on a short leash," Match said. "All those fires I started when I was a kid and the way my stepfather died. Not to mention the disaster in New Mexico."

"You were meant to be one of us," Marjorie said with a cold glance at Zachariah. "Not one of those limited old men. Once I pass through the gate, I can teach you how to use your magic — unlike Zachariah and his brotherhood of senility."

The old man lifted his head. "If our lack of action in the past made us appear fearful, think what you will. Match, I can't force you to remain behind, but once you leave, the rest of us will stand alone."

Unable to decide, Match pounded the basketball. His power simmered in time to the sparks of flame dancing in the gateway. Marjorie waited with a faint smile on her face, while Zachariah slumped down into a stained easy chair.

"Make up your mind, Match." Marjorie stepped closer to the gate. "You can stay on the bench with the old man or you can enjoy your power and the respect you deserve by leaving with me. Tomorrow, all the gates open. Move or die."

Good versus evil simplified the issues, Match thought. He could suffer through an extended bout of impotence with Zachariah until he learned to use his power, or he could throw his soul into the shredder to gain instant insight into the magic he'd been unable to control for most of his life.

Like the ball, his thoughts went up and down, up and down. Inside Match's head, his magic sizzled, eager for release. Match paced towards Marjorie, who grinned while Zachariah moaned behind him.

"I thought about my options," Match said, feeling the power in his fingertips.

"You've made the right choice." Marjorie stuck a foot in the gate and it started to grow bigger. "We have a lot of work ahead of us. The gate will follow us to the other realm once we step through. Hurry."

A gust of breeze hit Match and he shivered. "Actually, I've decided on a time out."

He slammed the basketball into Marjorie's face with all his strength. She fell backwards into the gate, shouting with rage. Match grabbed a mop to jam her farther in, then infused the basketball with enough power to make it glow. Throwing the mop aside, he used the basketball to smash the TV to pieces. Marjorie vanished in a haze of smoke, leaving Match panting.

"You won't delay the Final Battle for long with this trick." Zachariah sounded halfway between amused and irritated. He helped Match to his feet with a strong grip for a man of over seventy. The old man picked up the basketball and shook his head.

"I need more time to figure out how to use my power without blowing up innocent bystanders." Match reached for the ball.

Zachariah shoved it into Match's stomach hard enough to knock the air out of him. "That's for using your power after I warned you not to." He dropped the ball into Match's hands and walked towards the car.

A woman in a pink bathrobe walked out of the house and stared at Match in disbelief. "Did you cause this mess? Someone's got to pay for all this. My God, what have you done to that flat screen TV? I was going to pay my divorce lawyer with that thing."

A few bars of a tune by a famous dead rapper cut off her tirade. Relieved, Match pulled the oracle out of his jacket while the woman stalked away, muttering threats against all cell phones.

"What?"

"Horses without masters, lookin' for disasters, locusts on the way, check out the Chesapeake Bay."

The oracle's hip hop tune went dead. Time to leave, this time without their shadow. Eddie's bones smoked.

"You were so full of crap, but you played good ball. Keep shooting down there, man."

Match put the oracle away and hurried past the SUV after his mentor. The apocalypse lurked just around the corner. Until then, Match and Zachariah would perfect their game of saving the world, one hoop at a time.