“Oh, frak me,” Simon blurted without really thinking. The woman in black let the body lurch forward, slumping in a bloody mess on the diner’s black and white checked floor. She did it casually, but there was a feel of a gauntlet being thrown down, in as much as a mutilated corpse could serve as a gauntlet.

Blake slowly pulled out a cigarette, one of the new sort, made from genetically engineered tobacco. The woman only looked on, content to let her handiwork speak for itself as she stood, one hand on her hip and a taunting smirk on her face. Simon shifted a little on the bright red, vinyl seat, positioning himself for a hasty rise to his feet if needs be. A woman in the far booth fumbled her fork; it landed with what seemed like a thunderous clang to the floor in the still of the diner.

“You do realize what this means,” Blake said coolly to the woman.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, praise the gods.”

“And the deceased before us?” asked Simon, glancing at the body.

“My husband,” came her calm reply.