in appearance as ants, which is why the Stirrer in the centre of the circle stands out. Its face warps, or unwarps, grows human. It is a face wracked with agony.
Suzanne squeezes my hand.
'One of yours?' I ask.
She nods.
I look around for some way to get down to her spy and for a possible escape route once we do. 'We have to get him out of there.'
Suzanne shakes her head. 'We can't do anything, not here. Not now.' She lets go of my arm. 'You need to leave.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Bear witness.' She glares at me. 'Go.'
The man in the centre of the circle screams, and I feel a force push at me: Suzanne. I give in to it. But not before seeing the man's long limbs torn from him and thrown out into the crowd. The Stirrers howl.
The shift to my parents' living room is easier than I was expecting, but I bring that howl with me. I blink, let my eyes adjust to the light, and slump into the couch.
Poor bastard.
Oscar's standing out the front. I can hear Travis's heartbeat coming from the back. The pair's heartbeats tell me all I need to know. Nothing has happened since I left. Still, I go and check on Lissa.
She's sleeping.
Then I call Tim.
'Do you know what time it is?' he grumbles.
'Yeah, I'm sorry, but I've got a lead.'
'And Lissa's obviously sleeping.' He yawns. 'So what's this lead?'
'Francis Rillman. Mean anything to you?'
'Not a thing.' He sighs. 'Actually… It does sound familiar.'
'It should. He used to have your job.'
'Ministerial advisor?'
'No, your job here.' I run through what Suzanne has just told me.
'Really? Shit. Now I remember the name. Something my dad used to say when I was grumpy. Don't chuck a Rillman. Never understood what it meant. Let me Google him.' He sighs again. 'So how do you spell Rillman?'
'The usual way,' I answer.
Tim groans. 'Don't be a smart-arse.'
I spell it out. 'Anything?'
'Nothing, but give me some time. If he's out there, I'll find him. Keep safe.'
'You too.'
I hang up; make my way back to the bedroom.
I need Lissa. Right then I need her more than anything. I kiss her. Gentle and hard on the lips, her mouth responds. Her tongue searches mine. I slide a hand down her neck, slowly, and she pulls me in close. Eye's opening.
And for the first time in what feels like weeks, we really connect.
'What was that about?' she asks when we're finally still, sweat-drenched.
'I love you.'
'Well, duh.' She stretches, and I can't help but stroke one of her breasts gently with a fingertip. She pushes my hand away – after a while. 'How was your meeting?'
'Informative.'
'And Suzanne's offer?'
'I don't know.' The lie sticks in my throat.
'Suzanne is like that. She has a way of confusing the issues.' Lissa clicks her tongue. 'Are our heavies still outside?'
'Yeah.'
'How long is this going to go on, Steve?'
'A while, I think. I've got a bit of a lead though, someone by the name of Francis Rillman.'
'Did you say Rillman?'
'Yes.'
'It can't be him. I pomped him two weeks ago.'
'Are you sure?' I slide out of bed, disappointed. Rillman looked promising, and I want this over with.
'We had a chat. He's an interesting character. You know he tried an Orpheus Manoeuvre once. His wife, he lost his wife. And he failed to bring her back.'
'I'm aware of that.'
'Maybe, but did you know he failed because Mr D stopped him?'
I nod towards the kitchen, slipping on some boxers. 'Coffee? I think I need to be properly awake to get my head around this.'
Lissa laughs. 'You're supposed to offer that before the lovemaking.' She gets up and pulls a dressing gown around her shoulders.
The kitchen is quiet but for the heavy breathing of the espresso machine. I pour two cups. Why is Suzanne so sure it's Rillman if he's dead? Where does that leave me? I've got two suspects as far as I can see: Rillman who is dead, and Morrigan who is beyond dead. It's easier to believe that Suzanne is trying something.
Shit, I am so bad at this!
Lissa watches me as I set the cups down on the table.
'So Rillman, what'd he look like?' I ask, pushing her cup towards her.
She brings it to her lips, sips contemplatively. 'Nothing much. Bland, unmemorable. I know that sounds glib, but…' She furrows her brow. 'Tired, he looked tired, washed out. His hair was short, parted to one side. Wait a minute, there was one thing.' She reaches up and touches my nose. Her fingertips are warm and I blink at the contact. 'His nose was broken, not badly, but you could tell someone had given him a mighty whack once.'
'Maybe Mr D?' Though I can't imagine Mr D ever hitting anyone.
'Yeah, possibly. He asked about you. Seemed very interested in what you did. Hey, I might have a photo!'
Lissa runs out of the kitchen. I hear her digging around in the bedroom, then a cry of triumph. She comes back holding a photo album, open to a page. 'Here, here they are! Mum, Dad and Rillman.'
Lissa's description is apt. He's plain, all right, not unhandsome, I suppose. But in this photo he's smiling, and there's not a glint of murderous intent. His arms are around another woman, tall, dark hair down to her shoulders. She's smiling, too. Happy days.
'Is that his wife?'
'Yes,' Lissa says. 'I can't remember her name.'
No one remembers names, just the tragedies. What must it be like to fail at an Orpheus Manoeuvre? Not just fail, but be stopped? I understand him a little, I think. Suddenly I have to hold Lissa. I kiss her hard.
'What was that about?' she asks when I let her go, but I know she gets it too. She has to, right?
I look back at the photo. 'Did he seem angry at all?'
'No, more resigned. I got the feeling the angry part of him was long gone. And you know how souls are, they're a bit insipid, bloodless.'
I reach across the table and touch her arm. 'You weren't.'
Lissa smiles. 'But that's just me, I'm special.'
'You are. You don't know how much you are.'
Lissa shakes her head, but she isn't one for false modesty. 'I should have paid more attention to him, but it was a busy day. I think I must have pomped eight people that afternoon. Rillman was the last.'
'I'd have been the same. Strange, though – everything that I've been hearing seems to suggest Rillman could be behind the attack.'
'Where'd his name come up?'
'Something Mr D said,' I lie, and it's easier than I thought it would be. Like shifting, I'm getting better with
