The only two RMs who didn’t visit were Neill Debbier and Suzanne. I didn’t know what that meant, but by the time I was ready to leave my office I was tired and didn’t really want to know.
“You’re one of the club now,” Tim says leaning back on the bonnet of his car. “It’s a good thing.”
He passes me a beer, and I twist off the cap. “Yeah, but none of them wanted to talk about the attempt on my life.”
“Maybe it’s more common than you think.”
“No, Mr. D would have mentioned it.” Or would he?
The sun’s set, but the night is slow in cooling, the air close and thick. We used to sneak off to this park and smoke. Tim’s furiously working his way through a packet of cigarettes between mouthfuls of VB. I’m not such a fan of the beer—I like my Fourex—but at least it’s cold. Our stubbies are beaded with beerish sweat. I could do with something stronger though.
“So who do you think’s responsible?” Tim asks. “Stirrers?”
“No, I’d have sensed them if it was. We all would have.”
Tim nods. You can smell and feel a Stirrer from a long way off. Their presence pulls at the throat, burns the nose like a bad chemical. There’s been enough Stirrers rising to get us far too used to the sensation.
“I’ve been dreaming about Morrigan, lately. Maybe …”
Tim leans in toward me, eyes hard. “No, he’s gone. You told me that yourself. He’s deader than dead.” His voice is strident, but he looks like he needs reassurance.
“Yeah, I saw him die. He’s gone. Would have been easier though, knowing it was him.”
Tim shakes his head, jabs his beer in my face. “Morrigan was a devious, murdering prick. Don’t you dare wish him back on us!”
I draw back at his vehemence. “No, they were just dreams. That’s all, they can’t be anything else. So where does that leave us?”
“One of the Orcus, then?” he suggests.
“But which RM wants me dead? All the RMs are capable of it, but I don’t think it’s one of them. And certainly not after this afternoon. It’s in the Orcus’s interests to maintain stability. And I think if one wanted me dead, well, they wouldn’t screw it up so badly, and they wouldn’t be so underhanded about it.” I glance at Tim. “Do you think Solstice will have any luck?”
Tim shrugs. “Those guys know less about our organization than we do.”
I fix him with a stare. “How long have you known about these Closers?”
“Not too long. Actually, I thought they were a bit of a joke.” Tim takes a slow mouthful of beer. “What they’ve done is built on an idea I had years ago at the department—a group to actually work in tandem with Mortmax, to help out if the Stirrers ever became too much of a problem. I thought it would be a good thing, maybe increase the flow of information between both sides, and reduce some of the fear. But they’ve started it too late.”
“You didn’t think it worth your while to give me a heads-up about it?”
“Like I said, I thought they were a bit of a joke, though I’ve changed my mind, now. A scared government is a dangerous government.”
I glower at him. It’s bad enough feeling the scrutiny of the Orcus without knowing the federal government is looking into us, too. There was a time when no government would even consider questioning our actions. Trust them to decide otherwise when I’m in charge.
Something crunches in the undergrowth close to us. Tim and I spin toward the sound.
“Down,” I say, and Tim drops behind his car.
I can hear a heartbeat. It’s racing, and it’s not Tim’s. I grab the only weapon at hand, my stubby. The heartbeat is coming from behind a nearby tree. Taking a deep breath, I rush toward it and catch sight of a dim shape there, a large figure, hunched down.
There’s a flash. I hurl my stubby at the form. Beer splashes back at me. Glass shatters.
There’s no detonation of a gun firing. No bullets penetrating my thick skull. The heartbeat is gone. I scramble around the tree.
Nothing. Just a torch, its beam directed at my feet—the source of the flash, I guess. I can feel the residual warmth of a body from where it had leaned against the tree, and the slight electrical residue of a shift. It’s less than the memory of a ghost post-Pomp.
Whoever was here is good. They know how to hide their movements, even if they’re heavy on their feet.
“It’s all right,” I yell at Tim, holding the torch in the air.
He gets up and curses. Seems he threw himself onto his packet of cigarettes. Every single one of them is bent or broken.
“At least you’re not drenched with beer,” I say.
Tim grins staring at the mighty stain spreading across my trousers. “Are you sure that’s beer?”
I give him the most sarcastic smile I can. “Who the hell was that?”
“Now, that could have been one of the RMs, or an Ankou. Spying on us, maybe wondering why the hell we were out here.”
“They know how little we know then, if that’s the case.”
After another drink we’ve relaxed a little, and the beer down the front of me has evaporated. I might smell like a brewery but at least I’m dry. I’ve had two texts from Lissa, asking where I am, and I’ll respond to them soon.
“We’re going to need someone to watch your place,” Tim says. “You’ll want Lissa close.”
“What about you?” I ask.
“I’ll organize some security for us all.” He straightens a cigarette.
“Just how effective can security be if whoever is after me can shift?”
“Look, we don’t even know if these two incidents are connected. If they were, why didn’t they just shift into your office this morning? A bit of protection is better than nothing. And trust me, the guys I’ve got in mind are far better than nothing. They’re prepared for this sort of thing.”
“Really?”
“You’re so used to dealing with this through Mortmax that you’ve forgotten that other people work to fill the gap. These guys are like this. I’ve used them before—my old department had the occasional bit of trouble.”
“If you say they’re good enough. I trust you. I just wish—”
“What are wishes going to get you?” Tim asks. “This is happening. You are who you are, and you have to act appropriately.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“For bringing you into whatever the hell this is.”
Tim shakes his head. “Steve, you didn’t bring me into the last Schism. This is as much a part of my heritage as it is yours. I may have turned my back on it, but it wasn’t you who forced me to return. That bastard’s dead, dreams or no dreams.” He pats my arm. “How are you coping?”
I want to tell him that I’m not, that I’m drowning in my responsibilities and inadequacies, and now someone is trying to kill me as well. That when I close my eyes, dreams pound into me like the laughing waves of some gore-soaked sea.
“I’m doing OK.” I grin. “Hey, I’m head of an Australia-wide branch of an international company, and a profitable one at that.”
“Yes, we’re living the dream,” Tim says sardonically. He picks out the least damaged cigarette. “God help us.” He lights up. “I’ve got to get going. Sally has bridge tonight, I have to look after the kids.”
“Be careful,” I say.
“If the last few months have taught me anything, it’s exactly that.” He smiles. “I’ll be careful, and you, too. Don’t go running into anything without letting me know—and even then, maybe think before you run.”
11
Tim’s bodyguards stand outside my parents’ place. Dad wouldn’t have tolerated this. Mom would have laughed, maybe made a reference to Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner.
They’re two burly guys who Lissa tells me are called Travis and Oscar. Both of them arrived about twenty minutes before me. Tim doesn’t mess around. I rather suspect he had this organized well before he broached the subject with me. They are armed and
stationed at opposite ends of the house. Oscar’s at least my height, and nearly that wide, but it’s all muscle. Travis is even bigger. I’m not too sure about all this, having guns in and around the house—they’re nothing but trouble. Dr. Brooker’s right about that much.
I’ve drawn enough souls, who were killed by guns, to the Underworld, been nearly killed by guns myself. But this time I suppose they’re a necessary evil. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
We’ve just finished dinner, and I’m on my third beer, helping with the washing up (Dad didn’t believe in dishwashing machines) when Lissa fixes me with a peculiar, disappointed stare. “When were you going to tell me about Suzanne’s deal?”
I lift my foot with exaggerated care, even groan a little, but it doesn’t cut it as a sympathy maker. Lissa’s hands are on her hips now, and she’s scowling at me.
I drop the scrubbing brush into the sink and stop myself from asking who told her. “Look, I’ve been a little distracted of late.”
“I know, but this is big. You’re talking about the most influential member of the Orcus. What does she want with you?”
“She’s going to give me ten Pomps to supplement our numbers, and all I have to give her is ten hours of my time.”
“I don’t like it. Suzanne could do a lot with ten hours.”
“Not nearly as much as you, my dear.” I know I’ve said the wrong thing at once. I narrowly avoid a tea towel in the eye.
“She has a reputation, you know.”
I feel my face flush. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t have to worry about.”
“Hang on, you wanted me to get involved, to work harder. And that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?”
“I don’t trust her, and you shouldn’t either. The woman’s a scheming bitch!”
That vehemence in Lissa’s voice gets my attention. What has Suzanne done to her?
“Think about it,” she says. “They’re pushing so hard. The phone call at 2:30 in the morning. The meeting in the Deepest Dark. Cerbo’s offer—and then someone starts shooting at you.”
“Lissa, they’re Americans. They’re brash, they’re proud.”
“Exactly. And who loves guns more?” She hangs up the tea towel. “No, I’m willing to accept that they’re playing at something, but the shooting, it’s got to be a coincidence. Maybe it’s something to do with the Death Moot. Maybe it’s something to do with the Stirrer god—perhaps it has other agents here. What I know for certain is that we need more Pomps. Look at what it’s doing to you. Look at your palms.”
I know how much they must hurt. When Morrigan started his Schism, and as the Stirrers stepped up their invasion, my hands became open sores. And then there was the consequence of pomping itself—the psychic pain and damage. With every pomp it built until you felt as though you were being scratched from the inside out. Things weren’t that bad, but they could be better.
“I’m all right,” she says. “Things are improving.”
I lean in to kiss her but she pulls away.
“I don’t think you should do it. Just tell her to piss off.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” I say.
Lissa scowls at me. “RMs are devious, and she’s worse than all of them combined.”
I need those Pomps. Ten more workers could make a real difference. Lissa can obviously see me thinking this; I’m certainly not one of those devious RMs. She takes a deep breath.
“Look, I’m serious, that woman slept with my father. It’s all I can do not to hit her when I see her. It didn’t stop Mom.”
“What?” Seems Lissa’s just as good at keeping secrets as I am.
“It’s a small world in any corporation. It happened twelve years ago, at a Death Moot in San Francisco. Steven, it nearly destroyed my parents’ marriage. It certainly scarred it. I don’t want that woman having anything to do with you.”
“But you can’t think—”
Lissa glares at me.
“I mean, I love you. I’d never do anything to jeopardize that. But—”
Lissa’s glare burns into me like the light of a very attractive but blazing sun. I’m withering beneath it.
“OK,” I say. “I promise I won’t agree to her offer without letting you know.”
That seems enough for now. I hobble to the couch with her and we snuggle and watch a DVD. She’s asleep before the first scene is even finished. I stroke her hair for a while, she snorts in her sleep, and I ease myself out from under her. I’ll wake her in an hour or so. I switch off the DVD, surprised that the sudden silence doesn’t drag her from her dreams.
I’m in trouble. I need those Pomps and I need what Suzanne can give me: her experience. Mr. D isn’t enough, already he is distanced from the game, and from what I’ve read, and Suzanne’s comments, he was always a little isolated. If I don’t know what I’m doing, and why, there’s no way that I’m ever going to run my region well.
But I don’t want to hurt Lissa. She stirs in her sleep, frowns as though my plans are already upsetting her. My heart twists in my chest. There has to be a way I can keep this from her, and reduce the capability of Suzanne’s Pomps to spy on me. The new ten could service some of the regional areas, with a couple more surreptitiously inserted into the Sydney and Perth offices. Those are the two that Lissa knows least of all. If I can keep them out of Brisbane I should be all right.
And Lissa has been on at me to keep practicing my shifts. It’s not as though she can tell where I’m going. With the preparations for the Death Moot, I’m going to have to be moving about.
Yeah, I think I can do this.
I grab my mobile, fast, before I can change my mind and text Suzanne: Yes.
A text hits my phone.
Suzanne Whitman.
No time 2 waste. We might as well start now.
“I can’t see why not,” I say out loud.
“I thought you’d say that,” Suzanne says from behind me.
What? I spin and face her. Her presence strikes me hard, burns into my skull.
I glance over at Lissa—still sleeping on the couch, thank Christ. In fact, she’s rolled away from Suzanne like a sleeper might from a cold draft.
“Get out of here, now,” I hiss, nodding toward Lissa.
Suzanne smiles. “Keeping secrets, eh?”
“Deepest Dark, ten minutes.”
Suzanne is gone.
I walk over to Lissa, crouch down and shake her, gently.
Her eyes open.
“I have to go out for a little while. Didn’t want you to panic if you woke up and I wasn’t here.”
She yawns. “What?”
“I have a meeting.”
“With who?”
“Cerbo.” Well, that’s almost the truth.
“What does he want?” Her eyes narrow.
“That’s what I’m going to find out. It’ll be about Suzanne’s offer at a guess.”
She purses her lips. “Don’t trust her, or him. Never trust another RM or their Ankou. There’s always a bigger game at play.”
“I know.”
I lift her up gently, she rests her head in the hollow of my neck. All I can smell is her hair. How does it always smell so good?
“I love you,” she says into my shoulder.
“Love you, too,” I whisper. She’s already asleep, poor tired baby.
I carry her to the bedroom, pull the sheets over her, and set the ceiling fan on high. After a quick peck on her cheek I direct a crow to circle above, to monitor the front and the back of the house. Oscar and Travis are still there. Neither seem to have noticed Suzanne’s sudden appearance. I really wonder how effective they are going to be.
At least the contact with my Avian Pomp hasn’t given me a migraine this time. Must be getting better. Of course I’m probably heading into a much bigger headache with Suzanne.
12
The Deepest Dark is just as cold as the last time we met here. We’re a li
ttle closer to the city of Devour. Lights are flashing there, and it’s toward them that Suzanne is staring as I arrive. This shift is a particularly bad one. I’m a few minutes catching my breath. But at least there’s no vomit. Gotta love that.
“Something’s happening over there,” Suzanne says. She’s wearing my duffel coat. I can’t quite bring myself to ask for it back.
“That’s usually a good thing isn’t it?” I watch the lurid fires burn. “If it’s happening here, it’s not happening in the living world.”
“You’d think so, but their focus is only on our world. Anything happening down here has consequences for up there.”
“What do you think it is?”
Suzanne shrugs. “I have my spies and, of course, I will inform the Orcus of anything that they uncover.”
“Spies?”
Suzanne smiles. “This is your first lesson, I suppose. The Underworld is more permeable than you might think. Stirrers can enter our world through the agency of a corpse. Well, we can enter theirs, too. It doesn’t always work, but I have received some very good information before my spies have been discovered. And they always are. Just as a Stirrer takes a while to get used to a human body, a human takes a while to get used to a Stirrer’s.”
“You’re telling me they actually enter a Stirrer body?” All bony limbs, cavernous eyes and sharkish teeth; what would it be like to inhabit such a form?
“Yes, remarkable isn’t it? And you’re already learning something.”
“What’s it like?”
“Horrifying. It changes people. The ones I’ve managed to bring back, anyway. They’re different, life becomes less appealing to them, more wretched. Let me just say that they don’t tend to stay in the organization for very long.”
I try and imagine how it must be, trying to make a life in that city. Being so deep undercover that the very smell and essence of life disgusts you. Does the reverse happen? Do Stirrers learn to love life as we do? I’ve not seen it.
I wonder if she mightn’t also use those spies for assassination attempts. Say, on RMs. I’m starting to feel a little uncomfortable out here in the open. If keeping face weren’t so important I’d be away in a shot.
The Business Of Death, Death Works Trilogy Page 34