Managing death

'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. Mum 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 organised 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 Mum.'

'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 jeopardise 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 practising 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.