The Last Coffee Shop

Chapter 19: Blood on the Dance Floor

About an hour into the meal, a bell sounded, and the black-coated servers reappeared to collect the dishes. More servers replaced the platters with elegant desserts. Mads recognized golden, flaky pies and a sponge cake, but the rest of the glittering confections were mysteries. Krill would have been in heaven. Mads selected a few small pieces in honor of her friend. She doubted these people could outdo Krill, but they might have different ingredients or flavor combinations, so it was worth doing some "research."

Conversation flowed around her, parting like streams around a rock as they discussed people and places she'd never heard of. It was strange, to think that a few weeks ago she'd blindly accepted that Springs Village was the last surviving human settlement. Helen's Point, though a small community, was already the second group of people Mads had encountered in the Waste. On galactic terms, it was a tiny fraction of people, but it was forcing Mad to reevaluate everything she'd been taught.

And she wondered – did anyone in Springs Village know about Helen's Point? Or worse, the pit they'd found Indi and Naia in? Did Springs Village's alien benefactors know, and keep the information secret (or just think it irrelevant)?

Mads crumbled up a random pastry, lost in thought. It was sticky, with a light crust and a sweet, nutty scent. There were numerous layers filled with what looked like honey and nuts of some sort.

"They call it Balava." Clubs syrupy voice intruded on her thoughts. "It's delectable, an ancient recipe passed over centuries, still surviving."

Mads glanced at Clubs, who was leaning far too close. Close enough for her to smell the traces of alcohol on his breath. 

She didn't want him to know how unsettled he made her, so she remained ramrod stiff in her chair. "Is that so?" She lifted her sticky fingers, staring at the flakes of pastry so she couldn't see Clubs' flushed face.

"What do you owe Phelan?" breathed Clubs, his face so near that she would have smacked noses with him, if she turned. "And is it worth me buying you out?" His hand swam into her vision, taking her wrist and closing his fingers around it. It felt like a threat.

Mads stiffened, her fingers splayed in front of her, her eyes fixated on his hand so casually trapping her arm. Her heartbeat sped up and she forced herself to stay calm.

"Phelan's got a lot of secrets, as I mentioned," continued Clubs, as if everything he was doing was completely expected, even normal. "I'd make it worth your while to share a few."

Mads was trying to decide if it was wise to drive her elbow into Clubs' nose when she heard Graynard's deep growl from the opposite side. "Touch her again, Clubs, and I'm going straight to the Commodore. You know the rules. She's our business partner, so hands off."

Mads heart hammered even faster, and her blood felt like it was pulsing in her ears. "I can speak for myself," she spat, wrenching her hand away from Clubs and glaring at Graynard. The Atelian's face had gone purplish, as was normal when they were losing their temper.

Mads rose and shoved back her chair. "I'm not in the mood for dessert." She wanted to hit something (someone, preferably Luc) very, very hard. She was tired of being overlooked, used, and dismissed by everyone around her. While she hadn't asked for this, she hadn't rolled over and given up either.

Mads found herself by the tea dispenser. Her hands were shaking, and her left hand was still covered in sticky lines of honey and flecks of pastry. I want to go home. Mads closed her eyes, and was horrified by the warm moisture collecting behind her lids. Not here. She couldn't cry here. 

Mads looked up, searching for an exit, and settled on a side door. If she just walked through, as if she owned the place, maybe no one would notice. Regardless, she needed to get out of this room before she broke down, or attacked someone. Neither option seemed wise.