for a refill on her chai that he realized he had been staring at the phone. He mixed a cup of the fragrant tea and pushed it toward her. She gave a solemn nod, then returned to the table where she was giving an impromptu origami lesson.
Travis turned to unload a tray of dirty glasses. Something on the bar caught his eye. He picked it up and cupped it in his hand. Crisp paper wings stretched from its black body, and its sharp beak curved downward. Although he was sweating, a shudder coursed through him.
It was a gift, Travis. Molly couldn’t have known. On this world, it’s just a bird.…
He set the origami raven back on the bar. Maybe she would think he hadn’t seen it.
Two hours later, the last of the cowboys stumbledout the door of the saloon. Travis turned chairs up on tables and swept the floor. He wished Deirdre was there. Not to help with the work, but to keep him company, and maybe play a soft song on her mandolin. He finished the rest of his work in silence.
It was late. Time to lock the door, head upstairs, make a try at sleeping. Travis grabbed the keys from the hook behind the bar, then paused. He let his gaze wander over the saloon. It all should have been warm and familiar. Instead it was like looking at a foreign landscape. Nothing was right anymore. The heat, the town, Max. What had happened to Castle City?
What happened to you, Travis?
He wasn’t certain if the voice in his mind was his own, or if it was the
other
voice, the one that told him things, the one that sounded like Jack. But that voice hadn’t spoken to him since his return to Earth. Whatever its source, there was truth in the voice’s words.
Maybe Castle City hasn’t changed, Travis. Maybe you have
.
All the same, something
was
wrong. Travis wasn’t sure what it was, but it had something to do with the weather, and the man in black, and the crescent moon logo. But how did it all fit together?
He shook his head. Once before he had wondered where he was going to get answers to his impossible questions. But this time there was no old-fashioned revival tent glowing in the night before him.
Maybe they can help you, too.…
Or did he have someplace to go for answers after all? He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the crumpled brochure. The crescent moon glowed in the illumination of the neon bar lights. Duratek. What could they do for him? What changes might they bring to his life? He hesitated, then opened the brochure.
New shock flowed through him, as if his own body had become the wire. A mosaic of brilliant imagesmet his eyes, depicting laughing people and too-real landscapes. He shoved his hand back in his pocket and dug deeper. This time he came out with a small scrap of paper, the one he had found outside Max’s apartment. He didn’t need to place it atop the brochure to know it matched, but he did all the same.
“What are you doing, Max?” he whispered. “What are you doing?”
Travis folded the brochure and scrap, paused, then picked up the origami raven—no one had taken it from its perch on the bar—pressed it flat, and folded it inside the brochure. He shoved the bundle of paper back into his pocket, scooped up the keys, and headed for the door.
Afterward, Travis was never sure what made him stop as he pushed the key into the dead bolt, what made him turn the knob, open the front door of the saloon, and step out into darkness. Sometimes fate drew one onward. Sometimes danger did as well.
The onyx vehicle merged seamlessly with the night. Only the cool sheen of starlight against glossy paint betrayed its presence. He could just make out the pale curve of a crescent moon, far too low to be in the sky.
Travis stepped to the edge of the boardwalk. There was the solid chunk of a car door shutting, then the grinding of shoes on gravel. The man stepped out of the shadows into the pool of light in front of the saloon.
“I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you,” the man said.
Travis gripped
Travis turned to unload a tray of dirty glasses. Something on the bar caught his eye. He picked it up and cupped it in his hand. Crisp paper wings stretched from its black body, and its sharp beak curved downward. Although he was sweating, a shudder coursed through him.
It was a gift, Travis. Molly couldn’t have known. On this world, it’s just a bird.…
He set the origami raven back on the bar. Maybe she would think he hadn’t seen it.
Two hours later, the last of the cowboys stumbledout the door of the saloon. Travis turned chairs up on tables and swept the floor. He wished Deirdre was there. Not to help with the work, but to keep him company, and maybe play a soft song on her mandolin. He finished the rest of his work in silence.
It was late. Time to lock the door, head upstairs, make a try at sleeping. Travis grabbed the keys from the hook behind the bar, then paused. He let his gaze wander over the saloon. It all should have been warm and familiar. Instead it was like looking at a foreign landscape. Nothing was right anymore. The heat, the town, Max. What had happened to Castle City?
What happened to you, Travis?
He wasn’t certain if the voice in his mind was his own, or if it was the
other
voice, the one that told him things, the one that sounded like Jack. But that voice hadn’t spoken to him since his return to Earth. Whatever its source, there was truth in the voice’s words.
Maybe Castle City hasn’t changed, Travis. Maybe you have
.
All the same, something
was
wrong. Travis wasn’t sure what it was, but it had something to do with the weather, and the man in black, and the crescent moon logo. But how did it all fit together?
He shook his head. Once before he had wondered where he was going to get answers to his impossible questions. But this time there was no old-fashioned revival tent glowing in the night before him.
Maybe they can help you, too.…
Or did he have someplace to go for answers after all? He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the crumpled brochure. The crescent moon glowed in the illumination of the neon bar lights. Duratek. What could they do for him? What changes might they bring to his life? He hesitated, then opened the brochure.
New shock flowed through him, as if his own body had become the wire. A mosaic of brilliant imagesmet his eyes, depicting laughing people and too-real landscapes. He shoved his hand back in his pocket and dug deeper. This time he came out with a small scrap of paper, the one he had found outside Max’s apartment. He didn’t need to place it atop the brochure to know it matched, but he did all the same.
“What are you doing, Max?” he whispered. “What are you doing?”
Travis folded the brochure and scrap, paused, then picked up the origami raven—no one had taken it from its perch on the bar—pressed it flat, and folded it inside the brochure. He shoved the bundle of paper back into his pocket, scooped up the keys, and headed for the door.
Afterward, Travis was never sure what made him stop as he pushed the key into the dead bolt, what made him turn the knob, open the front door of the saloon, and step out into darkness. Sometimes fate drew one onward. Sometimes danger did as well.
The onyx vehicle merged seamlessly with the night. Only the cool sheen of starlight against glossy paint betrayed its presence. He could just make out the pale curve of a crescent moon, far too low to be in the sky.
Travis stepped to the edge of the boardwalk. There was the solid chunk of a car door shutting, then the grinding of shoes on gravel. The man stepped out of the shadows into the pool of light in front of the saloon.
“I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you,” the man said.
Travis gripped
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