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louder, but it didn’t seem to be that of a truck engine. For a moment, Paulo’s heart was filled with hope. But it was only a hope, nothing more. He tried not to think about it. The sound came closer and closer, and Chris turned to see what was happening outside.
    Paulo stared at his coffee, afraid she might perceive his anxiety.
    The windows of the restaurant rattled slightly with the noise. The counterman tried to ignore it—he knew the sound, and he didn’t like it.
    But Chris was fascinated. The horizon lit up with metallic reflections of the sun. The thundering engines seemed to shake the plants, the asphalt, the roof, and the windows of the restaurant.
    With a roar, the Valkyries swept into the gas station. And the straight road, the flat desert, the tumbleweed, the Chinese man, and the two Brazilians in search of their angels, all felt their presence.

Chapter 23
     
    T HE WOMEN, ON THEIR POWERFUL MOTORCYCLES , spun one way and then the other, dangerously close to one another, their machines shimmering in the hot air, their gloved hands toying skillfully with danger. They shouted out, as if to awaken the desert, to say they were alive and happy because it was morning.
    Fear gripped Paulo’s heart. Maybe they wouldn’t stop there, maybe they were only trying to remind the counterman that life, joy, and skill still existed.
    All at once, the rumbling stopped.
    The Valkyries dismounted, shaking the desert from their bodies. They pounded the dust from their black leathers, and removed the colorful bandannas that they wore over their faces like bandits to keep the desert out of their lungs.
    Then they entered the luncheonette.
    Eight women.
    They asked for nothing. The counterman seemed to know what they wanted—he was already placing eggs, bacon, and bread on the hot grill. Even with all the commotion, he continued to appear to be the obedient servant.
    “Why is the radio turned off?” asked one of them.
    The counterman turned it on.
    “Louder!” said another.
    Like a robot, he turned the radio to its loudest setting. The forgotten diner was suddenly transformed into a Manhattan disco. Some of the women kept time with the music by clapping their hands, while others carried on shouted conversations amidst the clamor.
    But Chris, watching, saw that one of them moved not at all—the oldest of them, the one with long, curly red hair. She didn’t enter into the conversation or the clapping of hands. She took no interest in the breakfast being prepared.
    Intently, she stared at Paulo. And Paulo, resting his chin on his left hand, met the woman’s gaze.
    Chris felt a stab in her heart.
Why is he sitting like that?
Something very strange was happening. Perhaps the fact that she had been looking out at the horizon for so many days—or had been training so hard at the channeling—was changing the way she saw what went on around her. She had been having premonitions, and now they were manifesting.
    She pretended not to notice that the two were eyeing each other. But her heart was giving her some inexplicable signals—and she couldn’t tell whether they were good signals or bad.
    Gene was right,
Paulo thought.
It is easy to make contact with them.
    Slowly, the other Valkyries were beginning to perceive what was happening. First, they looked at the eldest, and then, following her gaze, turned to the table where Paulo and Chris were seated. Their conversation was silenced, and they no longer swayed in time to the music.
    “Turn it off,” the eldest said to the counterman.
    As always, he obeyed. Now the only sound that could be heard was the sizzling of the eggs and bacon on the grill.
    As her friends watched, the red-haired woman walked to the couple’s table and simply stood there, looking at them. Then, without preamble, she spoke.
    “Where did you get that ring?” she asked Paulo.
    “At the same shop where you bought your brooch,” he answered.
    It was only then that Chris saw the metal brooch pinned to the