The Traveler

52

It was close to five o’clock in the afternoon, but Hollis and Maya still hadn’t returned. Vicki felt like a Harlequin, protecting the Traveler who lay on the cot in front of her. Every few minutes, she touched Gabriel’s neck with her fingers. His skin was warm, but there was no sign of a pulse.

Vicki sat a few feet away from him and read some fashion magazines she found in the closet. The magazines were about clothes and makeup and finding men and losing men and being knowledgeable about sex. It embarrassed Vicki to read some of the articles, so she skimmed through them quickly. She wondered if she would feel uncomfortable wearing tight clothes that displayed her body. Hollis would find her more attractive, but then she might become one of the girls who received a duplicate toothbrush and a ride home the next morning. Reverend Morganfield was always talking about shameless modern women and the harlot by the side of the road. “Shameless,” she whispered. “Shameless.” The word could sound like a feather or a slithery snake.

Vicki tossed the magazines into a trash can, went outside, and looked down the hill. When she returned to the dormitory, Gabriel’s skin was pale and felt cold. Perhaps the Traveler had entered a dangerous realm. He could have been killed by demons or the hungry ghosts. Fear came to her like a soft voice growing louder and more powerful. Gabriel was losing strength. Dying. And she couldn’t save him.

She unbuttoned Gabriel’s shirt, leaned over his body, and pressed her ear against his chest. Vicki listened for a heartbeat. Suddenly, there was a thumping noise, but Vicki realized it came from outside the building.

Abandoning the body, she ran out the door and saw a helicopter descend to the flat area of land beside the empty swimming pool. Men jumped out wearing helmets with bulletproof face shields and body armor that made them look like robots.

Vicki ran back into the dormitory. She put her arms around Gabriel’s chest and pulled him, but he was too heavy for her to carry. The cot fell on its side and she had to lower the body onto the floor. She was still holding the Traveler when a tall man wearing body armor ran into the room.

“Let go of him!” he shouted and pointed his assault rifle.

Vicki didn’t move.

“Step back and put your hands on your head!”

The man’s finger began to squeeze the trigger and Vicki waited for the bullet. She would die beside the Traveler, just like the Lion of the Temple had died for Isaac Jones. After all these years, debt paid.

A moment later, Shepherd strolled into the room. He looked as stylish as ever, with his spiky blond hair and tailored suit. “That’s enough,” he said. “No need for that.”

The tall man lowered the rifle. Shepherd nodded his approval, and then approached Vicki as if he was late for a party. “Hello, Vicki. We’ve been looking for you.” He leaned over the Traveler’s body, took the sword away, and pressed his fingers against Gabriel’s carotid artery. “Looks like Mr. Corrigan has gone off to another realm. That’s all right. Sooner or later, he has to come home.”

“You used to be a Harlequin,” Vicki said. “It’s a sin to work for the Tabula.”

“Sin is such an old-fashioned word. Of course, you Jonesie girls have always been old-fashioned.”

“You’re scum,” Vicki said. “Do you understand that word?”

Shepherd gave her a benevolent smile. “Think of all this as a particularly complex game. I’ve picked the winning side.”