“Here?” He glances around at the shining chrome and sparkling chandeliers of glittery Mugsy’s.
“There,” I qualify. “Back where I’m from. You’re not from my reality.”
“No.” He looks uncomfortable.
“Do you know me, where you’re from?”
“I did.”
I let that hang in the air for a minute before I bite my lip and ask.
“Did I move away?”
He holds my eyes.
“No.”
“When—” I clear my throat. “When did it happen?” I can’t bring myself to ask how it happened. I get the feeling he was there.
“Three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really am. I can see the hurt in his eyes. Whoever we were to each other, we were obviously close.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Not like I really lost you, after all. We’re Travelers. We’re always around somewhere.”
He gives me a stiff shrug, but it doesn’t quite cover the pain in his voice. I can’t help myself. I reach across the table for his hand. He rubs his thumb across the back of my knuckles, and the feel of his hand on mine is incredibly familiar.
“That’s got to be weird, though. Seeing a different me every time.”
“You get used to it.”
He says it, but something in his voice tells me you don’t, really.
“What if ‘other me’ kills somebody or OD’s on drugs or something?” I ask.
“It’s possible,” he concurs, “but not likely. You’re still you, after all.”
“Not over here, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “That’s why you’re a Traveler. You’re still you, no matter where you are. You’re just you, reacting to different circumstances.” His fingers tighten on mine. “The things that make you fundamentally you won’t change, Jessa.”
“What if I had a hard life? Grew up on the streets? Hung out with murderers?”
“You’d still be you.”
That makes me feel better. “So, that’s why I can do this? Because none of it will change me?”
“I didn’t say that,” Finn replies. “You can’t help but be shaped by the events around you, to some degree. But as a Traveler, you can recognize that they’re all just random particles that swirl around you and might become part of a bigger plan. It’s all transient. Maybe we’re a little smarter, or braver … maybe just more resilient. I don’t know. But we’re this way for a reason.”
“This is still wildly beyond comprehension,” I sigh. “It really is.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he tells me, scraping out the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. “Mario’s got it all under control. He’ll guide you along until you get the hang of it. I would imagine he’ll give you your first official job soon.”
I hold up a hand. “Whoa. Oh, no. Not yet. I’m not ready for a job yet. I haven’t even agreed to sign up for this,” I remind him.
“You’re already signed up for this, Jessa,” he points out. “And you’ve been seeing other realities for a while—you just didn’t realize it. Now you can consciously travel. That’s the only difference. I can help a little with some of it, teach you how to shift in dim light, or into water, or when your image is clouded or rippling. It just takes practice. Lots of practice.”
“I haven’t given an official answer about any of this,” I protest.
“Jessa…”
I’ve had enough. I’m not ready to commit to this. “I want to go home,” I say firmly. “Now.”
“Come on…”
“Now, Finn.”
He sits back in the booth. “So go ahead.” He shrugs. “Go back.”
“You’re not coming?”
He crosses his arms. “No. Figure it out yourself. You know how.”
I glance over at the restroom door, but it’s closed and occupied.
“Great,” I huff.
“You don’t have to have a mirror, you know,” he says, raising a brow. “Any reflective surface will work, so long as you can see yourself.”
I glance around, and the polished chrome wall next to me in the booth catches my eye. I can see myself, and everything else behind me. I can see Finn, and his eyebrow’s still raised in a way that really irks me.
I set my hand against the chrome and try to concentrate on my reflection.
“Don’t let yourself get distracted,” he warns. “You could end up somewhere you don’t want to be.”
“Quiet.”
I take a second and look around me, so I have something to compare to when things start to change in the reflection. I look back at myself, and I try to see me sitting in a booth at my Mugsy’s. I stare so long and hard, my eyes start to water.
“You’re trying too hard,” he says in a singsong voice, and it makes me even madder.
“Will you shut up? I’m new at this, remember?”
I straighten my shoulders and try again, and this time, everything behind me starts to get duller, more muted. I see the glittery, gold-speckled booths and gleaming, ornate decorations bend and morph into mundane photographs of coffee mugs and deep-red corduroy booth upholstery. Finn is saying something, but I tune him out, pushing my fingers into the chrome.