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 towards 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 organisation 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 towards 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 towards 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 organise 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. 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
