The Valkyries

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 leather jacket. It was made in the same design as the ring that Paulo wore on the ring finger of his left hand.
    That’s why he was resting his chin on his left hand.
    She had already seen many rings in the Traditionof the Moon—of every color, metal and carved—always in the form of a serpent, the symbol of wisdom. But never had she seen one like the one her husband wore. J. had given Paulo that ring in 1982, when they were in Norway, saying that he was thereby completing “the Tradition of the Moon, a cycle that was interrupted by fear.” And now, in the middle of the desert—a woman with a brooch of the same design.
    “What do you want?” the redhead asked.
    Paulo stood up, and the two stared at each other, face-to-face. Chris’s heart was beating wildly—she was certain that it wasn’t jealousy.
    “What do you want?” she asked again.
    To speak with my angel. And something else.”
    She seized Paulo’s hand and ran her fingers over his ring. Softening a bit, she seemed to become more feminine.
    “If you bought that ring at the same place I did, you must know how it’s made,” she said, her eyes fixed on the serpents. “If not, then sell it to me. It’s a beautiful piece.”
    It was simply a silver ring carved into two serpents. Each had two heads, and the design was quite simple.
    Paulo said nothing.
    “You don’t know how to converse with angels, and this ring isn’t yours,” said the Valkyrie.
    “I do know. Through channeling.”
    “Right,” said the woman. “That’s all that’s required.”
    “I told you that there was something else I wanted.”
    “What is it?”
    “Gene saw his angel. I want to see mine. I want to speak to my angel, face-to-face.”
    “Gene?” The woman’s eyes searched the past, trying to recall who Gene was, where he lived.
    “Yes, now I remember,” she said. “He lives in the desert. Because that’s where he met his angel.”
    “No. He is studying to become a master.”
    “This business of seeing your angel is just a myth. It’s enough to converse with them.”
    Paulo stepped closer to the Valkyrie.
    Chris knew the trick her husband was using: He called it “destabilization.” Normally, two people converse at arm’s length. When one of them approaches the other too closely, the other’s thinking becomes disorganized.
    “I want to see my angel.” He was quite close to the woman, and he was staring at her.
    “What for?” The Valkyrie appeared to be intimidated. The trick was working.
    “Because I’m desperately in