“Where is your esteemed boss?” Amira’s lips were painted lavender, like the tongue of a snake. “I see his wife is here again.”

“Mr. Tom has a meeting with the ambassador.”

“What’s the meeting about?”

“I’m not certain.”

“Surely, it is your job to know?”

Amira sidled to Huda’s desk. She glanced at Ally and bared her teeth in a facsimile of a smile.

“Reading the fortune?” she said in halting English. “What does the future say for Mr. Tom’s lovely wife?”

“It was just coffee,” said Huda. “We are all too busy for such nonsense.”

Ally seemed to sense the tension.

“Tom asked Huda to help me. I need to hire a driver.”

“A driver?” Amira pressed her fingertips together as if she were a great sage. “What about your husband, Huda? He knows Baghdad well. And he has free time, does he not?”

Huda stiffened.

“I don’t think—”

“Your husband is trustworthy,” continued Amira. “That is very important. Miss Ally cannot hire a stranger.”

Ally perked up.

“I’ve got to say, I like that idea.”

“That’s right.” Amira caught Huda’s eye. “This solution will benefit everyone.”

“I’ll ask him,” Huda mumbled. Everyone knew Amira was on the mukhabarat’s payroll. She would be taking notes on this. And reporting back.

“I am going to the canteen.” Amira leaned forward and swept up the cups and the saucers, obliterating the tower and the sword and the signs that screamed, Read me. “I’ll return these dishes for you.”

Huda grit her teeth. Amira offered another poor excuse for a smile and slunk away.

“I’m afraid I must get back to work.” Huda made a show of shuffling her papers.

“Are you certain that squiggle was a flying bird?” Ally leaned across the desk. “Maybe it was a raven. Surely that would be a bad omen?”

Huda pushed her chair back from her desk.

“You have a good imagination,” she said, “but you are no fortune-teller.”

* * *

When Huda arrived home, Abdul Amir’s Corolla was gone from the driveway. Huda closed the front door behind her, turned the key in the dead bolt, and slid the lock back into the catch. The scrape of metal on metal echoed along the hallway.

“Hello?” Huda kicked off her heels. “Anyone home?”

She hoped Abdul Amir hadn’t gone to the tea shop. It never did him much good. Most of the men there were jobless, and hurting like him, but too proud to reach out for help. Instead, they sucked on their nargilah pipes and fanned the coals with their bitterness.