There was nothing to mark the boarder between California and its northern neighbor but a green sign on a hillside that said ‘Oregon’. As soon as David saw it he peered through the window at the world to see what Oregon looked like. He saw only a hilly area with a wide view of the open countryside on the left. The highway was a long ribbon bleached a tired gray. Unimpressed, he leaned against Charis again and went back to dozing.

  Their drive continued to be unexciting. The bus paused at a couple of truck stops where they were able to buy snacks and stretch their legs, then more hours of watching trees alternate with hills outside the windows. Most of their entertainment came from the crazy dude in the front seat who was having an animated conversation with his three demon buddies. Since Dave could actually see who he was talking to the conversation made sense; but he could imagine what the other people on the bus thought.

  It was four hours before they finally pulled into Eugene. Their last-minute non-express hobbled-together ticket route had scheduled for them a gap of several hours, and they had passed a blue ‘Food Info’ sign on the way through town that advertised the presence of an IHOP. They couldn’t resist.

  “Why is it that greasy, overcooked, sugary food always sounds really good after you’ve been driving for eight hours straight?” Scott asked no one.

  They took a wheezing, rattling city bus to the restaurant and stepped out under a cloudy sky. It was an unimportant looking part of town blighted with strip malls and dotted with immature teenage trees which had barely gotten past the stick stage. The golden arches loomed behind the Pancake House sign as if the two fast food joints were locked in an eternal staring contest. There was some argument as to which one they should go to, but the thought of unlimited stacks of pancakes won the vote.

  The restaurant was like every other Pancake House on the planet; the same high ceilings, the same oversized windows covered with mini-blinds, the same row of booth tables sagging under worn out vinyl upholstery. A scattering of middle aged women sat chatting over salads, loud children were more interested in bouncing on the seats than sitting on them, and the inevitable pair of old men slouched by the window as though they’d grown out of their chairs.

  Between the uncomfortable seats, squealing five-year-olds, and the blaring of both the news and the sports channels from two competing tv’s, it wasn’t the most relaxing sanctuary but it would do. It provided them a hot meal and a bathroom where Dave spent ten minutes brushing his teeth and trying to groom the ridiculous too-long stubble Charis insisted he keep.

  When Dave returned to the booth, Miradon and Dusty were sitting on one side of their booth talking quietly while Charis sat opposite them reapplying eyeliner with a compact mirror. She insisted that she was making her ‘eyes straight’. Scott was thankfully still missing, last seen standing in front of the mirror in the men’s room attempting to make his hair stand on end with nothing but spit and tap water. Dave hoped the little putz would stay in there picking at his head for another hour.

  He slid in beside Charis, helpfully brushing a long silky strand of golden hair behind her ear.

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  She graced him with a sidelong smile, looking rather like a raccoon with only one of her eyes darkened by sultry shimmering purple shadows. “You look good,” she said, tugging on his short trimmed beard playfully. “Thanks for not shaving it off.”

  Dave grunted and scratched self-consciously at his wiry brown chin hair. He didn’t like it, but if she did he was willing to suffer. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, considering this girl was really weird, possibly super powered, and he’d only met her a couple of days before. If he were thinking straight he would have left this little party yesterday morning instead of letting her sweet talk him into hanging around. Then he never would have gotten involved with their monster hunt and maybe the cops wouldn’t be after him.

  But it was too late now, he was in over his head and he needed to know everything he could about his problem, her weirdness, and the monsters, if he was ever going to get out of it. Still it was nice that while he was with these four crazy people the pack of monsters that had been following him all the way north from Los Angeles stayed well away and out of sight.

  “How delightful,” Miradon said, smiling down at his plastic menu. “I adore waffles. Is it too late to order from the breakfast menu, do you think?”

  “Nah.” Dusty was busy stacking creamer packages into a little pyramid. “It’s barely noon. They’ll give you waffles. In fact, won’t Pancake House always give you waffles?”

  “I think they will, 24/7,” Charis muttered as she finished her other eye.

  Dave absently watched the weather forecast on the television above the pastry counter, trying to decide which question he wanted to ask first. He had a lot of them and while Charis couldn’t be bothered her friends didn’t seem to mind filling him in. Not that what they said made much sense, but he was determined to try to squeeze every drop of information out of these people he could get.

  The weather forecast ended, returning to the blond anchorwoman in a pink suit. She looked like a middle aged Barbie except she wasn’t smiling. And there was a picture of Dave Tolin in the corner of the screen.

  “Whoa,” Dave held up a hand to interrupt Dusty and Miradon’s discussion of waffles, trying to hear the dim volume of the news program. He could hardly believe his eyes. There he was, on the news, and it was probably the worst picture ever taken of him. He was scowling, scruffy, bearded, and wild-eyed. He looked like a damn criminal.

  “Oh shit,” Charis sounded disgusted.

  “Not particularly flattering, is it?” Miradon scowled.

  The picture was put alongside another on the screen; the second one a driver’s license picture of Scott looking both bored and sullen with his hair gelled up and his faded red cravat tied beneath his chin. The headers named David Tolin as a fugitive suspect for possible kidnapping of Professor Cragley in Los Angeles as well as the disappearance of a valuable antique belonging to the University, and a connection to a illegal drug ring. Apparently Scott was the last one seen with him. A suspected accomplice. He was also wanted for questioning in relation to three homicides in San Francisco.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Dave groaned.

  Then it got worse. His room mate appeared, standing on their apartment porch looking strained and confused but putting on a brave show. Poor Rick had no idea what was going on. “Um… I don’t think you have the right guy. Dave would never hurt anyone. He’s too geek for that. He would never have anything to do with drugs either.”

  He was saying more, but the kids in the restaurant were squealing again. Dave threw down his menu, glaring at the screen as it once again showed that horrible picture of him and his wild-man beard.

  “That’s it,” he said, shoving himself out of the booth and heading back to the bathroom. “I’m shaving it off.”

  Charis didn’t argue this time.