not cosmopolitan enough for somewhere like this.”
Valkyrie gave her another polite smile, then took her coffee from the girl behind the counter and went to an empty table by the wall. Weird woman, being all chatty to a complete stranger. She blew on the coffee to cool it down and let her eyes drift. The big man wasn’t looking at her any more. Margaret was now chatting to the girl at the till. Music played. A young man sat by the window. He was dark-haired, heavyset, wearing a suit. Bad tie. He smiled at her. What was this, Be Nice To Strangers Day? She gave him a curt nod, which he mistook for an invitation. She groaned silently as he picked up his coffee and his pastry and approached.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Something wrong with the table over there?”
“It’s a lonely table. All the beautiful girls are at the tables over here.” His smile widened and he sat. “Hi. I’m Alan.”
“Hi, Alan.”
“Can I get your name?”
Valkyrie. “Stephanie.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. So, Stephanie, what do you do?”
Catch bad guys. Save the world. “I’m still in school, Alan.”
He laughed. “No, you’re not. Seriously? Wow. How old are you?”
“I’m seventeen.”
“Seventeen. Wow. You look older. I don’t mean you look old. You don’t look old. Oh, God, I’ve probably insulted you now, haven’t I?”
He really did like to laugh, this Alan.
“I just saw you sitting here,” he continued, “dressed all in black, standing out from the crowd, looking like a girl who was worth getting to know. Are you a girl worth getting to know, Stephanie?”
“Nope,” she said, “not me.”
“I think you’re being modest.”
She took another sip of coffee.
“Well,” he said, “in case you were wondering, I’m twenty. I work in Boyle Solutions, around the corner there. It’s a pretty good job. Pays well.”
“Good for you.”
“I only started a few months ago but already my boss is lining me up for a promotion. I mean, here I am on a Sunday, on my way in for a few hours when everyone else is at home. They appreciate that kind of dedication, you know? In fact, there’s this office thing, some kind of get-together, next week, and I was wondering if maybe, if you’re not doing anything, you’d like to accompany me? It’d only be for an hour or two, but we could grab something to eat afterwards if you’d like.”
“I don’t think I’ll be available.”
“But I haven’t told you what day it’s on.”
“That really doesn’t matter.”
Alan laughed. “Oh, I like you. I like your style.”
“Excuse me,” she said when her phone beeped. She took it out. She didn’t recognise the number, but she read the message.
ONE OF THESE PEOPLE IS HERE TO KILL YOU.
She put the phone away, took another sip of her coffee. Alan sat there and smiled. Six people standing in line, the big man at the till. Margaret sitting in the corner. Another five people sitting around the shop. Four coffee shop employees behind the counter. Seventeen people in all.
“Good news or bad news?”
She looked back at Alan. “Sorry?”
“The text message. Good news or bad news?”
She shrugged. “Just news.”
He leaned closer. “Really? You’re not going to say it’s from your boyfriend or something? Maybe use it as an excuse to get me to go away?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, Alan.”
“Now that is a crime.”
The big man passed behind Alan and Valkyrie tensed, but he walked on and sat at a table without making any suspicious moves. His boots were slightly scuffed, his jeans worn. The coat had seen better days but had character because of it. He wore a thick watch. No jewellery.
Now that the conversation had stalled, Alan hid his awkwardness by taking a drink and looking at something interesting on the wall. Valkyrie glanced at him. Out of shape but not obese. Soft hands, though. A watch that looked expensive but wasn’t. Off-the-rack suit, badly ironed shirt, bad tie. She leaned back, her eyes flickering to his shoes. No laces, no grips.
“Don’t you just love awkward silences?” he asked, and she smiled as he chuckled, and looked over his shoulder at Margaret. Her coffee lay untouched on the table before her. Her bag lay open, within easy reach. Anything could be in that bag. She was casually watching the people queuing up, like she was keeping her eyes away from Valkyrie’s side of the room on purpose.
And those were only the three people who had paid attention to her. There were over a dozen more in here who hadn’t even glanced her way. There were the men in suits and the harried-looking women and the dude in the jeans and the idiot in the—
Margaret glanced at her and looked away immediately. Valkyrie settled her gaze. Another few seconds passed and their eyes met again. Margaret gave a cheerful smile, and when Valkyrie didn’t return it, that smile faded into a straight line.
They stared at each other across the coffee shop.
Alan was saying something and the people to her left were laughing, and a new song came on the radio and Valkyrie looked at Margaret and Margaret looked at her. She watched her right hand slip into the bag. Valkyrie’s own left hand raised her coffee cup to her lips. Her right hand flexed.
Alan was still talking. About what, Valkyrie didn’t have the slightest idea.
“Alan,” she said softly, without taking her eyes off Margaret, “would I be unforgivably rude if I asked you to go back to your table?”
He didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said. “Not at all. You’d be honest. And I appreciate that.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
He gathered up his pastry and his coffee. “It was very nice to meet you, Stephanie.”
“Same here,” she murmured.
She didn’t watch him as he walked away. Margaret gave her a nod of acknowledgement. Valkyrie nodded back.
Moving very slowly, Valkyrie stood up. So did Margaret, who took her hand from her bag. She wasn’t holding anything. Three chatting teenagers passed between them.
Valkyrie stepped towards the door and Margaret stood in her way.
“Leaving?”
Valkyrie nodded.
“But you haven’t finished your coffee.”
“My friend’s waiting for me outside.”
Margaret smiled. “I don’t think so.”
Margaret took a step towards her. She was wearing a ring she hadn’t been wearing before. She grabbed Valkyrie’s arm. Valkyrie tried to pull away but Margaret wouldn’t let go. Margaret was smiling. And then she frowned, looked down, looked at Valkyrie’s jacket.
In the movies, spies killed other spies by jabbing them with poisoned spikes concealed in rings. Valkyrie grabbed Margaret’s wrist, pulled her hand away, saw the spike that had failed to puncture her sleeve. Margaret twisted, locking Valkyrie’s elbow, tried to grasp her bare hand. While people chatted and laughed around them, Valkyrie manoeuvred to the side, teeth gritted, trying to turn the ring away from her. They were being noticed