“And we were standing over there,” said Foe, “talking about books, because that’s what we like to do, we like to talk about books, and we heard you cry out and we came over because we were worried, and we care, and now we’re here, having a conversation. Having a friendly conversation with our new friend.”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” Ryan said, really wishing he were somewhere else right now.

“Friends don’t lie to each other,” Foe said.

“I’m – I’m not lying.”

“You’re lying a little bit,” Foe said, smiling. “What’s your name?”

“Ryan.”

“Good to meet you, Ryan.”

Foe stuck out his hand. Ryan hesitated, then went to shake it. Instead, Foe grabbed his wrist and turned his palm to face upwards. The gang looked at the symbol imprinted on to his skin, and Foe released Ryan’s wrist and put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Ryan, my friend. You’re going to have to come with us now.”

Ryan shook his head. “I should be going home. My dad will be here in a minute to pick me up.”

“Ryan,” said Foe. “If you don’t come with us right this second, we’re going to kill everyone in this building and then we’re going to drag you out through the blood and the gore and what remains of their dead bodies.” Another smile, this time with narrowed eyes. “So really, buddy, it’s up to you.”

Ryan wanted to scream for help and run away, but his legs wouldn’t work and his chest was too tight. He looked at them. Foe, with his smile and his eyes. Mercy, an eager look on her face, like she was really hoping she’d get to kill someone today. Obloquy, standing there looking dumb and dangerous. And the accountant, whose gaze had never faltered, who was as still as a statue, completely detached from what was going on. The accountant was the scariest of them all.

And then, whistling.

TWO

Through the gaps in the books, Ryan could see someone in the next aisle over, moving slowly. Someone in black. Someone whistling. Ryan recognised the tune. It was the theme music to Harry Potter.

A pretty girl appeared at the corner of the bookcase. Tall, with long dark hair. Maybe a year or two older than Ryan. Wearing a jacket that was zipped up, tight trousers and boots, and a ring on her finger. All in black. All made from materials Ryan couldn’t identify.

And still, whistling. As she whistled, her dark eyes wandered from Ryan to Foe, to Mercy and Obloquy, and then to the accountant. When she got to the accountant, she stopped whistling, and looked back at Ryan.

“Hi,” she said. “My name’s Valkyrie. Are these people bothering you?”

Ryan wanted to tell her to run, but he knew the gang would be on her in an instant.