"I didn't get a chance to talk to you the last time you were here. I wanted to assure you and your partner that I don't hold you in any way responsible for the deaths of my father or my brother Paul. I checked you out very thoroughly. It wasn't your fault. You mustn't blame yourselves."
"Thank you," said Hawk. "I'm glad you feel that way. I never really had the chance to know your father, but I liked your brother. He was a good man to work with."
"Speaking of blame," said Buchan, as he joined them, "How the hell did you manage to raise that creature in the first place?"
Hightower frowned unhappily. "Lord Brunel came into possession of an old grimoire, and persuaded us that some of its rituals might be adapted to suit our purposes. Yes, I know. We should have known better. But we thought we'd be safe, as long as we stayed outside the circle…"
"Oh, that's typical, that is! Put all the blame on me!" Brunel's voice blared out from nearby, and the small group turned to see him stalking toward them. "You're not laying the blame for all this at my door. We discussed whether or not to use the ritual, and everyone agreed. Including you, Hightower. It wasn't my fault everything went wrong."
"We can talk about this later," said Buchan. "In the meantime, I think you'd better let me have the grimoire for safekeeping. My colleagues in the God Squad will want to examine it."
Brunel's hand dropped halfway to a square bulge underneath his waistcoat. "I'm not handing over anything. The grimoire's mine. If I let you have it I'll never see it again. I know your sort. You'd keep it for yourself. But you're not having it. There's power in this book, and it belongs to your betters. All right, things got a bit out of hand this time, but…"
"This time?" said Buchan. "You're not thinking of trying this kind of stunt again?"
"Why not? Next time, we'll get it right. You can't stop us. We're Quality, and you're not—not anymore. What we do is our business and nothing to do with you. You're not one of us anymore, Buchan, and your precious heroics here tonight don't change a thing. You're still nothing more than a dirty little Sister-lover, and we don't want you here."
Fisher stepped briskly forward, punched Brunel out, and took the grimoire from his unconscious body. She looked round at the watching crowd.
"Any objections?"
No one said anything, and most of the Quality looked away to avoid catching her eye. Fisher turned her back on them and handed the grimoire to Buchan.
"You have to know how to talk to these people. Shall we go?"
Buchan and Hightower exchanged a brief smile, and then bowed formally to each other. Buchan left the ballroom through the open double doors, followed by Hawk and Fisher. Hawk turned back to shut the doors, and came face to face with the silent, staring Quality. He'd helped save their lives, but all he could see in their faces was resentment, and perhaps even hate. They'd been saved by a social inferior who didn't even have the decency to be apologetic about it. Hawk grinned at them, winked, and closed the doors on their disapproving scowls.
Hawk and Fisher and Buchan returned to God Squad headquarters to find Rowan and Tomb sitting slumped and shattered in their usual chairs in the drawing room. Apparently clearing up the mess left on the Street of Gods had been a major undertaking, and was still continuing even now, but they'd done all they could. The Beings remained in their churches and temples, and their followers had retired to lick their wounds and plot more trouble for the future. Everything was quiet for the moment, but it was a false peace, and everyone knew it. They were just waiting for the next dead Being, and then there would be God War on the Street of Gods. And not even the Exorcist Stone would be enough to stop that. Tomb had sent an urgent message to the Council's circle of sorcerers, bringing them up to date on the situation and asking for help and support, but as usual the circle was split by factions and intrigues, and probably wouldn't even respond till it was too late.
"I don't know why I feel so bitter about it," said Tomb tiredly. "This is Haven, after all."
Rowan's mouth twitched in something that might have been meant as a smile. She didn't just look tired, she looked exhausted. Her face was pale and slack, with dark bruises of fatigue under her eyes.
"Are you feeling all right, lady Rowan?" Hawk asked politely.
"I'm fine," said Rowan. "I just need a rest, that's all."
Her voice was flat and strained, and they could all see the effort it took her just to speak. Tomb cleared his throat uncertainly.
"Rowan, I really think we'd all be a lot happier if you'd let us call in a doctor, just to have a look at you…"
"How many more times do I have to tell you?" snapped Rowan. Her anger produced two fiery red spots on her cheeks, but her face remained dull and impassive, as though the facial muscles were simply too tired to respond. "I don't need a doctor, I don't need fussing over, and most of all I don't need you crawling around me all the time. Why won't you all just leave me in peace?"
There was an awkward pause, and then Buchan rose unhurriedly from his chair. "Come on, Tomb. Let's raid the kitchen and see what we can find there. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. It's typical we had to have our busiest day in months on the one day in the week our servants have off."
Tomb nodded without looking at him, and the two men left the drawing room, Buchan pulling the door firmly shut behind them. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
"I hate to press you on this, lady Rowan," said Hawk firmly, "but if there is something seriously wrong with you, we need to know about it. Things are going from bad to worse out there on the Street, and we have to know if we can depend on you in a crisis."
Rowan shifted tiredly in her chair. "Yes. I suppose you do. And it would feel so good to talk about it to someone. But you have to swear not to tell Buchan and Tomb. Especially Tomb." She looked at Hawk and Fisher in turn, fixing them with her piercing eyes in her weary face, and waiting until they'd both nodded in agreement. "I have cancer. It's well-established and very advanced, and there's nothing that can be done about it. I thought for a long time I could cure it myself, with my knowledge of potions. By the time I discovered I couldn't, it was too late. It's spread too far for alchemy to do any good now. I've talked to experts. There are spells that might work, but I don't have that kind of money. I've got a month or so left; maybe a little more.
"You mustn't tell Tomb. It would upset him. He hasn't the power to cure me himself, and the dear fool would bankrupt himself trying to raise the money to buy a cure. It's better that he doesn't know."
"But surely… one of the Gods could do something," said Fisher uncertainly. "I mean, they do miracles. Don't they?"
"I used to think that," said Rowan. "But if I've learned anything here, it's that there are no Gods on the Street of Gods. I looked really hard, trying to find just one, but all I found were supernatural Beings with no love for the God Squad."
She broke off as the door opened, and Tomb and Buchan came in bearing trays of cold food. For various reasons no one had much to say while they ate, so the meal passed for the most part in silence. Rowan just picked at her food, pushing it back and forth on her plate, and finally she put it to one side and quietly announced she was going back to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. Everyone nodded, and Tomb wished her good night. She left the room without answering, shutting the door firmly behind her. The others finished their food, and sat for a while in silence, thinking their separate thoughts.
"You mustn't mind Rowan," said Tomb finally, to Hawk and Fisher. "It's just her way. She'll be a lot better once she's had a little rest."
"Sure," said Hawk. "We understand."
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be going out again." Tomb pushed his empty plate to one side and stood up.