“And he taught you how to use a sword?”

“That was just one part of it. I also had to learn karate, judo, kickboxing, and how to fire different kinds of guns. He tried to make me think a certain way. If we shopped at a store, he’d suddenly ask me to describe every person we had seen. If we were riding in the Underground together, he’d tell me to look at everyone in the car and determine the sequence of battle. You’re supposed to attack the strongest person first and work your way down.”

Gabriel nodded as if he understood what she was talking about. “What else did he do?”

“When I got older, Father would hire thieves or drug addicts to follow me through the streets after school. I had to notice them and figure out a way to escape. My training was always out on the street, as dangerous as possible.”

She was about to describe the fight in the Underground with the football thugs, but fortunately the waitress arrived with the second hamburger. Gabriel ignored it and tried to continue the conversation.

“It sounds like you didn’t want to become a Harlequin.”

“I tried to live a citizen life. It wasn’t possible.”

“Are you angry about that?”

“We can’t always choose our path.”

“You seem angry at your father.”

The words slipped beneath her guard and touched her heart. For a second, she thought she was going to start crying so hard that it would shatter the world that surrounded them. “I-I respected him,” she stammered.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.”

“Forget about my father,” Maya said. “He has nothing to do with our current situation. Right now the Tabula are looking for us and I’m trying to protect you. Stop racing up the road on your motorcycle. I need to keep you in sight the whole time.”

“We’re in the middle of the desert, Maya. No one is going to see us.”

“The Grid still exists even if you don’t see the lines.” Maya stood up and slung the sword carrier over her shoulder. “Finish your meal. I’ll be outside.”

FOR THE REST of the day, Gabriel rode in front of her and matched the speed of the van. The sun went down and melted into the horizon as they continued traveling northeast. About forty miles from the Nevada border she saw the green-and-blue neon sign of a small motel.

Maya reached into her purse and pulled out the random number generator. An even number meant keep driving. An odd number meant stop here. She pressed the button. The RNG showed 88167, so she flashed her headlights and turned off into the gravel courtyard. The motel was shaped like a U. Twelve rooms. An empty swimming pool that had grass growing on the bottom.

Maya got out of the van and walked over to Gabriel. They needed to share a room so that she could watch him, but Maya decided not to mention that fact. Don’t push him, she thought. Make up an excuse.

“We don’t have a lot of money. It’s cheaper if we share a room.”

“That’s okay,” Gabriel said, and followed her into the lighted office.

The hotel owner was a chain-smoking old woman who smirked when Maya wrote Mr. and Mrs. Thompson on a little white card. “We’ll pay cash,” Maya said.

“Yes, dear. That’s fine. And try not to break anything.”

Two saggy beds. A small table and two plastic chairs. There was an air conditioner in the room, but Maya decided to leave it off. Noise from the fan would muffle the sound of anyone approaching. She slid open the window above the beds, then went into the bathroom. Tepid water trickled out of the shower head. It had a flat, alkaline smell, and it was difficult to rinse her thick hair. She came out wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts and Gabriel took his turn.

Maya pulled the blanket off her bed, and then slipped beneath the sheet with her sword lying a few inches from her right leg. Five minutes later, Gabriel stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair, wearing a T-shirt and underwear. He walked slowly across the worn carpet and sat down on the edge of his bed. Maya thought he was going to say something, but he changed his mind and crawled under the covers.

Lying faceup, Maya began to catalog all the sounds around her. The wind lightly pushing against the screen. An occasional truck or car passing down the highway. She was falling asleep, half in a dream, and then she was a child again, standing alone in the Underground tunnel as the three men attacked her. No. Don’t think about that.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head slightly and looked across the room at Gabriel. His head was on the pillow and his body was a soft form beneath the sheet. Maya wondered if he had lots of girlfriends back in Los Angeles who flattered him and said “I love you.” She was suspicious of the word love. They kept using it in songs and television commercials. If love was a slippery, deceitful word-a word for citizens-then what was the most intimate thing a Harlequin could say to another person?

Then the phrase came back to her, the last thing she had heard her father say in Prague: I would die for you.

There was a creaking noise as Gabriel moved restlessly on his bed. A few minutes passed, and then he propped his head up on two pillows. “You got angry when we were eating lunch this afternoon. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked all those questions.”

“You don’t need to know about my life, Gabriel.”

“I didn’t have a normal childhood either. My parents were suspicious of everything. They were always hiding or running away.”

Silence. Maya wondered if she should say something. Were Harlequins and the people they protected supposed to have personal conversations?

“Did you ever meet my father?” she asked. “Do you remember him?”

“No. But I do remember seeing the jade sword for the first time. I was probably eight years old.”

He remained silent and she didn’t ask any more questions. Some memories were like scars that you kept hidden from other people. A trailer truck passed the motel. A car. Another truck. If a vehicle turned into the courtyard, she would hear tires crunching across the loose gravel.

“I can forget about my family when I’m jumping out of a plane or riding my bike.” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, the words absorbed by the darkness. “Then I slow down and it comes back again…”

“All of my early memories are about riding in our car or pickup truck. We were always packing our bags and leaving. I guess that’s why Michael and I were obsessed with having a home.

“If we lived in one place for more than a few weeks, we’d pretend we were going to be there forever. Then a car would drive by our motel more than twice or a gas station attendant would ask Father an unusual question. Our parents would start whispering to each other and they’d wake us up at midnight and we’d have to get dressed in the darkness. Before the sun came up, we’d be back on the road, driving to nowhere.”

“Did your parents ever give you an explanation?” Maya asked.

“Not really. And that’s what made it so scary. They’d just say ‘It’s dangerous here’ or ‘Bad men are looking for us.’ And then we’d pack and leave.”

“And you never complained about this?”

“Not in front of my father. He always wore shabby clothes and work boots, but there was something about him-a look in his eyes-that made him seem very powerful and wise. Strangers were always telling secrets to my father as if he could help them.”

“What was your mother like?”

Gabriel was silent for minute. “I keep thinking about the last time I saw her before she died. It’s hard to get that out of my mind. When we were little she was always so positive about everything. If our truck broke down on a country road, she’d take us out into the fields and we’d start looking for wildflowers or a lucky four-leaf clover.”