Maya sat quietly and watched the three men. It had taken her a while to recover from the electric shock, and she still had a burning sensation in her chest and left shoulder. While she was unconscious, the men had cut apart an old fan belt and used it to tie her legs together. Her wrists were chained with a pair of handcuffs passed beneath the chair. At that moment, she was trying to control her anger and find the calm place within her heart. Think of a stone, her father used to tell her. A smooth black stone. Pull it out of a cold mountain stream and hold it in your hand.
“Why isn’t she talking?” Bobby Jay asked. “If I was her, I’d be calling you a bastard.”
Shepherd glanced at Maya and laughed. “She’s trying to figure out a way to cut your throat. Her father taught her how to kill people when she was a little girl.”
“Intense.”
“No, it’s insane,” Shepherd said. “Another Harlequin, this Irishwoman named Mother Blessing, went to a town in Sicily and murdered thirteen people in ten minutes. She was trying to rescue a Catholic priest who was kidnapped by some local mafiosi working as mercenaries. The priest was shot and bled to death in a car, but Mother Blessing escaped. And now, swear to god, there’s an altar at a roadside chapel north of Palermo that includes a painting of Mother Blessing as the Angel of Death. To hell with that. She’s a goddamn psychopath, that’s what she is.”
Chewing gum and scratching himself, Tate walked to the chair and leaned forward so that his mouth was a few inches away from her face. “Is that what you’re doing, sweet face? Thinking about killing us? Now that’s not nice.”
“Keep away from her,” Shepherd said. “Just leave her on the chair. Don’t unlock the handcuffs. Don’t give her any food or water. I’ll be back as soon as I find Prichett.”
“Traitor.” Maya should have stayed silent-there was no advantage in conversation-but the word seemed to come out of her mouth.
“That word implies betrayal,” Shepherd said. “But you know what? I’ve got nothing to betray. The Harlequins don’t exist anymore.”
“We can’t let the Tabula take control.”
“I’ve got some news for you, Maya. The Harlequins are out of a job because the Brethren aren’t killing the Travelers anymore. They’re going to capture them and use their power. That’s what we should have done years ago.”
“You don’t deserve your Harlequin name. You’ve betrayed the memory of your family.”
“Both my grandfather and my father only cared about Travelers. Neither of them ever thought twice about me. We’re the same, Maya. We both grew up with people who worshipped a lost cause.”
Shepherd turned to Bobby Jay and Tate. “Watch her at all times,” he said, and walked out of the room.
Tate went over to the table and picked up Maya’s throwing knife. “Take a look at this,” he said to his brother. “It’s perfectly balanced.”
“We’re going to get the knives, her Harlequin sword, and some bonus money when Shepherd comes back.”
Maya flexed her arms and legs slightly, waiting for an opportunity. When she was much younger, her father took her to a club in Soho where they played three-cushion billiards. It taught her how to think ahead and organize a quick sequence of actions: the white ball would strike the red ball, and then bounce off the rubber cushions.
“Shepherd is way too scared of her.” Holding the knife, Tate walked over to Maya. “The Harlequins have got this big reputation, but there’s nothing backing it up. Look at her. She’s got two arms and two legs just like anybody else.”
Tate began to push the point of the knife against Maya’s cheek. The skin flexed and gave way. He pushed harder and a little dot of blood appeared. “Now look at that. They bleed, too.” Carefully, like an artist shaping wet clay, Tate made a shallow cut from the side of Maya’s neck to her collarbone. She felt blood oozing out of the wound and trickling across her skin.
“See. Red blood. Just like you and me.”
“Stop fooling around,” said Bobby Jay. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
Tate grinned and returned to the table. For a few seconds, his back was turned and he blocked his brother’s view. Maya fell forward, onto her knees, and pulled her arms as far back as possible. When she was free of the chair, she slipped her arms beneath her pelvis and legs. Now her hands were in front of her.
Maya stood up-wrists, ankles still bound-and leaped past Tate. She somersaulted over the table, grabbed her sword, and landed in front of Bobby Jay. Startled, he fumbled inside his leather jacket for a gun. Maya swung the sword with two hands and slashed open his neck; blood sprayed out from the cut artery. Bobby Jay started to fall, but she had already forgotten about him. Sliding the sword down behind the black rubber fan belt, she cut her legs free.
Move faster. Now. She stepped around the table toward Tate while he reached beneath his oversized shirt and grabbed an automatic. As he raised the weapon, Maya moved to the left, swung down hard, and chopped off his forearm. Tate screamed and staggered backward, but she was on him immediately, slashing back and forth across his neck and chest.
Tate dropped to the floor and Maya stood over his body, clutching her sword. The world became smaller at that moment, collapsing like a dark star into one small point of fear and rage and exultation.