Page 58 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

“Hi!” someone calls from the back, before a middle-aged woman emerges, dusting some sort of flour off her hands. “Our espresso machine is broken, but we have a mean French press.”

Her eyes don’t even flicker to Killian, even though he stands right next to her.

They’re the only customers, though the chairs are astrew, like the morning rush already came and went.

“Just a big coffee with some cream, maybe some vanilla if you have it,” Chloe says, and Killian’s scanning the room, flexing out power like it’s nothing, despite there being no threats. “And…a croissant and an egg muffin.”

If she’s going to be outputting a bunch of energy like she thinks, then more food’s not gonna be a bad thing.

“No problem,” the woman says, and her eyes crease nicely, “it’s been a bit since we started the new muffin recipe, I’m glad to see people like it.”

Chloe nods, giving her the sunniest smile she can muster. “My friend told me about it!” she lies, and immediately, Killian whirls around to stare at her, even if it's the sort of lie that all store clerks want to hear. “She swears by this place.”

The woman beams back, then busies herself with pouring the coffee, heating up the muffin, doing all of the normal coffee shop things, a soothing sound, as Chloe taps one of the strips of paper in her pocket, transforming it into a bit of money.

Killian squints down at her, and she shrugs at him.

“You want this to go, dear?” the woman asks, and Chloe nods, even as Killian shakes his head.

“I think it’ll be great to walk around and have a coffee,” Chloe says, mostly to him, but keeping her eyes on the woman. “I love a hot drink on a cold morning walk.”

It’s nonsense, and he tilts his head at her, but the woman puts an extra slice of fancy dessert bread in the bag before handing it to her, still smiling.

“It should be objectively miserable out there,” Killian says, and he’s not keeping his voice down, but the woman doesn’t react at all.

It’s going to take some getting used to, not reacting to someone who isn’t there, but Chloe pays, accepting the bag and the hot drink, before giving the woman as generous of tip as she thinks she can get away with without being suspicious and hunkering back out into the cold.

“It is miserable,” she says out of the side of her mouth, the moment they’re far enough away from the door to evade suspicion. “But I can walk and eat.”

“And you lied,” he puzzles out, staring up at the cloudy sky that threatens them with more snow. “For absolutely no reason.”

“No, for some reason,” Chloe argues. “It made her happy and I got an extra snack.”

He shakes his head, like she’s the one being odd, before his eyes briefly gleam, reflecting the light, and he points to a car parked on the mostly abandoned street.

“That one,” he says, confidently. “Nobody’s driven it in three months, there’s an engine part missing.”

“That’s not a problem,” Chloe replies cheerfully, taking a large gulp of the truly amazing coffee. “Can you create a distraction? Make it so nobody’s looking over here?”

He raises an eyebrow at her, but the shadow face underneath almost, almost smiles. “Do you need something subtle?”

“Eh,” Chloe equivocates. “I’m fine with not terribly subtle if you are.”

The lines around his eyes wrinkle up into a smile, one that hits her a bit like a punch, before he straightens. “How much time do you need?”

Chloe throws a glance at the car. It’s easily twenty years old, there’s rust along the axel, and she’d be surprised if it has gas.

But creating an engine that runs on other things isn’t the most difficult thing she’s done in a while, and Axel had explained to her some of the alternative structures he used to put into his car.

“Ten minutes?” she suggests, then shrugs. “To be safe. Most cars won’t be that long, but I can’t tell until I touch it.”

He nods, absorbing that, then gestures her forwards like a gentleman.

Even though curiosity burns in her, Chloe huddles deeper into the jacket, clutching the coffee like it’s a lifeline, and sidles up to the car, letting her fingertips graze the splotchy paint on the door.

And she can immediately tell a few things.

The spark plugs are gone, the wires loose where they should be, and someone had long ago drained the transmission fluid away.

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