Gabriel gestured with his hand-let’s have breakfast-and when the Paradise Diner appeared he turned into the dirt parking lot. The diner was a flat-topped building that looked like a railroad boxcar with windows. A large air-conditioning unit was installed on the roof. Holding the sword carrying case, Maya got out of the van and studied the building before she decided to go inside. Front entrance. Back entrance. A battered red pickup truck was parked in front of the diner and a second pickup with a camper shell was parked on the side.
Gabriel strolled over to her. He shifted his shoulders around, relaxing his knotted muscles. “I don’t think we need that,” he said and motioned to the sword case. “We’re just eating breakfast, Maya. It’s not World War Three.”
She saw herself in Gabriel’s eyes. Harlequin craziness. Constant paranoia. “My father trained me to carry weapons at all times.”
“Relax,” Gabriel said. “It’ll be all right.” And she saw, in some new way, his face and eyes and brown hair.
Turning away from him, Maya took a deep breath and placed the sword inside the van. Don’t worry, she told herself. Nothing’s going to happen. But she checked the two knives that were strapped to her arms.
The coyote was kept in a chain-link cage built near the front of the restaurant. Sitting on a concrete slab dotted with piles of scat, the captive panted from the heat. This was the first time Maya had ever seen a coyote. He looked like a mongrel dog with a wolf’s head and teeth. Only his dark brown eyes were wild; they watched Maya intently as she raised her hand.
“I hate zoos,” she told Gabriel. “They remind me of prisons.”
“People like to see animals.”
“Citizens want to kill wild creatures or put them into cages. It helps them forget that they’re also prisoners.”
The diner was a long, narrow room with booths near the windows, a counter with stools, and a small kitchen. Three slot machines were near the front door and each one had a garish theme. Circus of Jackpots. Big Winner. Happy Daze. A pair of Mexicans wearing cowboy boots and dusty work clothes sat at the counter eating scrambled eggs and corn tortillas. A young waitress with bleached blond hair and a pinafore apron was emptying one ketchup bottle into another. Maya saw a face peering through the kitchen serving window: an old man with bleary eyes and a scruffy beard. The cook.
“Sit anywhere you want,” the waitress said, and Maya picked the best defensive position-last booth down, facing the entrance. As she sat down, she stared at the silverware on the Formica table and tried to visualize the room in her mind. This was a good place to stop. The two Mexicans looked harmless and she could see any car that approached the building from the road.
The waitress came over with glasses of ice water. “Mornin’. You two want coffee?” She had a chirpy little voice.
“Just some orange juice,” Gabriel said.
Maya stood up. “Where’s the restroom?”
“You got to walk outside to the back. Plus, it’s locked. Come on. I’ll take you there.”
The waitress-whose name tag read “Kathy”-led Maya around the diner to an unmarked door fastened with a padlock and latch. She kept chattering as she searched through her pockets for the key. “Daddy’s worried about people coming in and stealing all his toilet paper. He’s the cook and the dishwasher and everything else around here.”
Kathy unlocked the door and switched on the light. The room was filled with cardboard boxes of canned food and other supplies. She bustled around, checking the paper-towel dispenser and wiping out the sink.
“You got a real cute boyfriend,” Kathy said. “I’d like to drive around with a good-looking man like that, but I’m stuck at the Paradise until Daddy sells this place.”
“You’re a bit isolated here.”
“Nothing but us and that ol’ coyote. Plus a few people driving down from Vegas. You been to Vegas?”
“No.”
“I’ve been six times.”
When she finally left the room, Maya locked the door and sat on a stack of cardboard boxes. It bothered her that she might feel any kind of attachment to Gabriel. Harlequins weren’t allowed to become friends with the Travelers they protected. The proper attitude was to feel somewhat superior to the Travelers, as if they were little children who were innocent of the wolves in the forest. Her father always said there was a practical reason for this emotional distance. Surgeons rarely operated on family members. It might cloud their judgment. The same rules applied to Harlequins.
Maya stood in front of the sink and stared into the cracked mirror. Look at yourself, she thought. Tangled hair. Bloodshot eyes. Dark, drab clothing. Thorn had turned her into a killer without attachments, someone who lacked the drone desire for comfort and the citizen desire for security. Travelers might be weak and confused, but they could cross over and escape from this worldly prison. Harlequins were trapped in the Fourth Realm until they died.
When Maya returned to the diner, the two Mexicans had finished their meals and driven away. She and Gabriel ordered breakfast, then he leaned back in the booth and watched her carefully.
“Let’s assume that people really can cross over into other realms. What’s it like there? Is it dangerous?”
“I don’t know that much about it. That’s why you need a Pathfinder to help you. My father did tell me about two possible dangers. When you cross over, your shell-your body-stays here.”
“And what’s the second danger?”
“Your Light, your spirit, whatever you want to call it, can be killed or injured in another realm. If that happens, then you’re trapped there forever.”
Voices. Laughter. Maya watched the door as four young men entered the restaurant. Out in the parking lot, the desert sun gleamed on their dark blue SUV. Maya evaluated each person in the group and gave them nicknames. Big Arms, Shaved Head, and Fat Boy all wore a mixture of sports team jerseys and workout pants. They looked as if they had just run from an athletic club fire and had grabbed their clothes randomly from different lockers. Their leader-the smallest man, but the one with the loudest voice-wore cowboy boots to make himself look taller. Call him Mustache, she thought. No. Silver Buckle. The buckle was part of an elaborate cowboy belt.
“Sit anywhere you want,” Kathy said.
“Hell yes,” Silver Buckle told her. “We were going to do that anyway.”
Their loud voices, their desire to be recognized, made Maya nervous. She ate quickly, finishing her breakfast, while Gabriel smoothed some strawberry jam onto his toast. The four young men got the restroom key from Kathy and gave their breakfast orders, changing their minds and demanding extra bacon. They told Kathy they were driving back to Arizona after watching a boxing match in Las Vegas. They had lost a large bet on the challenger, plus additional money at the blackjack tables. Kathy took their order and retreated behind the counter. Fat Boy exchanged a twenty-dollar bill for some singles and began to play the slot machines.
“You finished eating?” Maya asked Gabriel.
“In a minute.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Gabriel looked amused. “You don’t like those guys.”
She rattled the ice in her water glass and lied. “I don’t pay any attention to citizens unless they’re in my way.”
“I thought you liked Vicki Fraser. You two were acting like friends…”
“This is a goddamn cheat!” Fat Boy pounded his fist on one of the slot machines. “I just put in twenty bucks and I didn’t even get one back.”
Silver Buckle was sitting across from Shaved Head in a booth. He stroked his mustache and grinned. “Wise up, Davey. It’s set to never pay off. They don’t make enough money from this bad coffee so they rip off a few more bucks from the tourists who play those machines.”