A girl walked down Mercy Road under a broiling sky too sullen to rain. She was older now than she had been when she fist came this way. She had a silver trumpet under her arm, a horn that shone with the pure, utter brightness of a new instrument that the dirty fingers of the air had never touched to smudge with tarnish. The wings behind her were getting more real, more solid, by the second. She was shining, throwing light on the sidewalks and showing any passers-by just how grimey it was. There were none, though, none but a tired figure standing in a doorway with dark circles under her eyes and a scar on each cheek. I had gotten up that morning and tried get my hair to lie flat and wash some of the wear from my face. It had its usual effect. I was no more presentable, but I felt like I had tried. I had pulled on my least-faded jeans and put a fresh coat of polish on my boots. I put on the long, black coat that was my armor when I lived in another, better, world. I startled her. I should hav taught her not to flinch, I thought.

"Gabriela!" I said "Come here!" She turned her head and looked at me. I wondered if that was how does look at hunters as they pull their triggers. It was like I had shocked her. "Let me get you a good meal before you go to your fate." She followed me to the diner still unsure why she was walking two steps behind a stranger. "I would have liked to give you more attention," I said, "but I have a novel going on. You had potential, but you were on the back burner from the start. Besides, I hate sharing stories with other writers. There are so many telling stories in this town that it has become a weird, polytheistic universe. When I build worlds, I like to rule themm alone. Watch this." I took a napkin from the dispenser and pulled out a pen.

'"Get whatever you want. It's on the house," the waitress said,' I wrote. The waitress got up and walked over to our table.

"Get whatever you want. It's on the house," she said. Gabriela had eggs, and I ordered pancakes.

"Eat up," I said. "Your fate awaits you."

"Whasit?" she asked through a mouthfull of food.

"You will run into a burning library trying to save that poor librarian. The archangel will fly off to wherever he is supposed to be and you will recover your memmory and identity. You will return home to your upper middle class family in your small, upper middle class town. Everyone there will seem so superficial that you will return to places like this. You will enjoy a successful career revitalizing blighted urban areas. I was going to drive you slowly insane and then kill you, but you caught me in a good mood. Good luck, Gabriela. Goodbye."