Suzanne's eyes narrow just enough that I know I've got to her. 'You know the rules,' she says, 'our hands were tied. Morrigan manipulated us.'
Morrigan manipulated me more than anyone. But I'm not going to let Suzanne get away with her comment. 'Excuses aren't going to save the world. Morrigan was small time compared to that.' I point at the Stirrer god amassing on the horizon.
Suzanne raises her hands placatingly. 'I have my best people working on it,' she says. I open my mouth to speak but she jumps in first. 'But that's not why I'm here. You need me.'
'Like a coronary.' My turn for a condescending grin.
Suzanne grimaces, though I can see that I've amused her, which makes me a little grumpier. 'Try not to be so aggressive. Yes, this is scary for you, Steven, I understand that. You're a newly negotiated RM, in the process of building up your Pomps. It's going to be years before you're at full strength. You're vulnerable. You can barely shift without throwing up.'
Fair assessment so far. But I can't let it lie. 'I'll get better.'
'Of course you will,' she says, 'but I can help you. I can ease the transition. I can lend you more Pomps, for one thing.' She reaches out, squeezes my hand. Her fingers are warm. I pull away, and Suzanne frowns, but not with anger. She dips her head, even manages a smile. 'I understand exactly what you're going through. I can guide you.'
'I've already got Mr D for that.'
Suzanne's face tightens, her smile attenuates, whatever humour there was in her eyes leaves with it. I'm familiar with that expression – I tend to bring it out in people, and Mr D was even better at it than me.
'Mr D was never one of us,' she says. 'You want a second-rate mentor? You stick with that idiot. I'm giving you a chance.' She bends down, grabs a handful of the dust which coats everything here, and lets it fall. Only it doesn't. The dust drifts around her lazily, glowing in all the colours of a particularly luminous acid trip. It spirals around her head creating a halo, and beneath it she's all shadows, sharp angles and full lips. The darkest points of her face are her eyes. When she smiles, her teeth are white and straight. 'No one understands this place, this job, like I do. Just consider it. That's all I'm asking.'
'And what do you get out of it?'
'I get an ally, Mr de Selby, and one who is aware of his powers and limits, one who doesn't go off rushing madly into things, making it difficult for everyone. Mr D isolated himself. He never really bothered with us. Sometimes I think he delighted in making enemies. When you think about all the people who died – all that you've lost – remember who let it happen. Morrigan had the schemes, but Mr D allowed him to flourish in your branch.'
She has a point.
'Steven, I liked your family. Michael and Annie were good people. The things your father did for Mortmax… He even lifted our profits in the States.'
I can imagine Dad rolling in his grave at that. He'd always been slightly embarrassed by his business acumen. All he'd really wanted was to be a Pomp. Now Dad, if pressed, would have made a great RM. Mum, too. I wish they were here. I wish I knew what they would do.
Suzanne shivers. It's cold here, and I doubt she would ever show such vulnerability willingly, but my father raised me this way: I shrug out of my coat and put it around her shoulders. She's wearing Chanel No. 5, my mother's favourite perfume. I remember coming home, after my parents had died. The house had smelled of it and it was the first time the reality of their deaths really hit me. It was also the first time that I wondered if moving into their place was a mistake.
I pull away. Suzanne doesn't notice, or pretends not to, though she does look at me oddly. 'You are a gentleman, Mr de Selby.'
I open my mouth to speak, but she's already gone. 'Hey! What about my coat?'
All I have to answer me is dust falling to the ground again. I crouch down and scoop up my own handful. In my palms it's just dust, gritty and grey. I open my fingers and it drops. Only the souls in the sky, and the nearby city of Stirrers, offer any light.
My right biceps tingles, then burns. Ah, finally. Wal crawls out from under my shirt and stares up at me.
'I don't trust her,' Wal says. No surprise there, that's Wal's standard response, though it's been proven remarkably accurate.
'Where were you?' I ask.
'Stuck to your arm,' he says, looking more than a little chagrined. 'She stopped me, I don't know how. But she did it well.'
I grin at him cruelly. 'Ah, so there are things, very useful things, she could teach me.'
Wal slaps me across the face with all the force of a handful of tissues. 'You shut your mouth.'
He actually looks hurt.
A dim hooting comes from the city of Devour – like a parliament of malevolent and fractious owls. Bells ring and, all around us, the dead whisper their brittle, final whispers before drifting out of hearing and further into the Deepest Dark.
The air chills. Both of us feel it. I don't have my coat anymore, but Wal is the only one who is naked.
He shivers. 'I don't like this place.'
He's not the only one.
6
'I can't believe I'm going to be late!'
Most of my clothes are in piles in the bedroom. But my suit, one of eight I own, hangs in the wardrobe. A Pomp never leaves their suit on the floor. Never. And I'm RM now, I have to set the standard. I slip into it like a second skin. It's Italian, and cost me three weeks' salary – and that's my current salary. This meeting with Cerbo is formal; tracksuit and jumper just isn't going to cut it. Lissa watches, then hits me with the most deafening wolf whistle. I can't understand how she finds this body attractive. OK, maybe a little, I do work out. And the suit looks pretty fine. But still, I feel my cheeks flush at Lissa's scrutiny.
I knot my tie, straighten everything, and even I have to admit that I look good.
Though not nearly as lovely as Lissa. I want to be back in bed with her. We never seem to spend enough time together. A moment apart is an ache in my chest. Tim might be right, new love and all that. But I never felt this intensely for Robyn. And Lissa is the only woman I have ever pursued to Hell.
'Maybe I should call off this meeting, spend the morning with you. You're not working till late, I've seen the schedule. We could…'
Lissa appears to give this some serious thought. 'No, Tim would kill you, and me. Not after all we've done trying to get you engaged with the business again. The Moot's a week away. You've got to – stop that!'
She doesn't push me away, though, as my lips brush her neck. Then – I feel her body stiffening with the effort of it – she does, and I'm backing off the bed, away from the intoxicating smell of her. 'You'll crush your suit, or, at the very least, stretch the front of those pants.'
'Oh.' I look down. 'I see what you mean.'
And I'm blushing once more. Lissa grins at me wickedly. I straighten my suit again.
Yeah, new love. Such new, new love.
'How do I look?'
'You're the bomb,' she says.
'The bomb?'
Lissa laughs at me. 'Just get out of here. Or your cousin will have an aneurism.'
'How's the hair?'
She squints at me. 'Still thinning.'
'I hate you.'
'No, you don't.'
