'Well, you're worrying me now,' Mr D says, and looks ready to turn around. I slap a hand onto his shoulder.
'No need for that,' I say. 'You're not the target. Besides, how would they kill you? You're already dead.'
'There are ways and means, believe me.'
Hmm, maybe I need to know some of them.
'Don't you get any ideas,' Mr D snaps. 'What's he doing now?'
'Anything but looking in our direction,' I say.
Then he's gone. I refuse to let that stop me. There is some muddy sort of swirl where he was, a sort of crazy wake-black hole combo. I look from Mr D then back to that murky mass. It's shrinking, and fast.
I know I'm going to regret this. I sprint at the swirling, what I guess – hope – to be a gateway and dive into it.
Silence. Icy fingers clutch my heart and squeeze – my left arm throbs. It's a real effort not to yell with the sick, deep pain of it.
Then I come out of the dark, skidding on my belly, feeling oddly refreshed. I spring to my feet, my fists clenched.
I'm still in the Underworld. Mount Coot-tha rears up beyond the river. The One Tree creaks, casting its great shadow over everything. I recognise this place! I can see the old gas stripping tower – the structure that was in part responsible for me becoming what I am. I remember the agony of the summoning ceremony I performed in its living-world clone to enter Hell and call a trapped Mr D to me. How did I ever endure that? I just did, I guess, I had no time to react or think it through. Maybe I could again, but knowing what to expect, I doubt it. How the hell does Rillman manage it time and time again? Who's helping him?
The masked man stands by the tower, waiting for me, shifting his balance from foot to foot.
I stride towards him. 'You!' My hands are balled up at my sides. I'm bigger, meaner, faster. I'm an RM. This is my territory. I loom over him. Finally, I'll get some answers! A grin goes rictal across my face. 'No point in running.'
'You're right,' he says, in a voice I can't quite place, dancing to my left and around me.
And then I'm on my arse, blinking. My nose is bleeding, my head throbs. I have the far-too-fucking-familiar taste of my own blood in my mouth. Whirring wings flash just outside of my line of vision.
'You all right?' Wal shouts, his voice thick as treacle in my ears. I blink; he's blurry and indistinct. And still holding onto the dagwood dog.
'The prick sucker-punched me!' I say.
Wal grins. 'Well, you have to be a sucker first.'
Thanks. Yeah, another comment from the poster boy of my fan club. 'Do you always have to be like this?'
'What are you saying? When was I any different? Grow a sense of humour.'
I have to admit that he does look concerned. You don't often see an RM stunned and bleeding in their region. It's not particularly good for my ego, especially as this is the second time in two days. At least no one else has seen me this time. 'He seemed to know what he was doing,' I say, as Wal flies around me, searching for any other injuries.
'No shit.' He lands heavily on my shoulder and I get a spatter of tomato sauce down my shirt front.
'Have you ever seen him before?'
'I don't have X-ray vision.'
I sigh. 'Just what help are you?'
'I'm here, aren't I? Even with a god driving down on us in the dark of the ether, something I'd rather not experience again, by the way – I'm here. And you know I always will be, you whiny bastard. We're stuck together, and I've got your back.'
'Yeah, look, I'm sorry.' I struggle to my feet. Wal flies from one shoulder to the other. The movement makes my head spin. 'I've got work to do.'
'Be careful,' Wal says. 'I can't look after you up there.'
'I'll do my best.'
'That's what I'm worried about.'
18
Tim's on the phone shouting at somebody. He hangs up when I slide a chair next to his desk. I look at the dark rings under his red eyes.
'You really look like you had a big night last night,' I say.
'And you look like you've just been punched in the nose again,' he shoots back.
I touch my hand to my face. Yep, blood. 'Just spent the morning chasing someone through the Underworld. Turns out I should have ducked when I caught up with them.'
Tim passes me a box of tissues. 'Who do you think it was?'
'Not Rillman, at least. It felt too different from him. An Ankou, I think, but I couldn't get a good enough fix on them. At least they didn't stab me. There's something almost honourable about a good old punch to the face.' I apply tissues. 'Talking of Ankous…'
'Cerbo's lesson was instructive.'
'Do you think you could shift?'
'Give me three weeks, and I'll be shifting everywhere. Right now, the thought of doing it again makes me want to throw up. Steve, sorry I ever doubted you.'
'This situation with Rillman is out of control, Tim. What the hell are we supposed to do?'
Tim shuffles his papers, lifts his eyes to mine. 'We keep going. There's nothing else we can do. We keep going carefully and cautiously, and we do not stop. Whoever Rillman is, and whoever he's working for, they can get to us anytime they want. They've already proven it. And if Rillman can shift then there's nowhere that's safe. We just have to keep going, until either we stop him, or he stops us.'
My mind turns to things that we may have some control over. 'How are you going with those Closers?'
Tim frowns. 'I can't find out anything. People are being very tight-lipped at the Department – and I mean very.' He sighs. 'I can't remember the last time I came to work with a hangover. I got three of them drunk last night, after the Christmas party, and nothing. Not a bloody peep. But this is my best guess.' He hands me a small sheaf of papers. 'These are based on my suggestions, when I was running that portfolio.'
He looks at his watch. 'We've a job interview at 11:30. You'll need to be there, since we're using your office and all.'
'Really? This morning's been busy enough as it is!'
'Who is it?'
'Clare Ramage. She looks good, on paper anyway. Lissa found her. I'm surprised she didn't mention anything, but, then, the week we've been having, eh? We won't know for sure until we can get her into your office, see how she handles the Underworld.'
'What do you think?' The office is just a formality, both Lissa and Tim can usually tell beforehand.
'I think she'll be fine.'
'OK I'll see you at 11:30. And I'll read this, right now. That's a promise.'
'Make sure you keep it. None of that slipping a bookmark through it bullshit,' Tim says, and maybe I shouldn't grin at him. Shit, we're so good at pushing each other's buttons we don't even need to try most of the time. Tim groans. 'Now, get out of here. And be careful who you let into your room, unless you don't intend reading that, because if that's the case, buddy, I might just have to torture you myself.'
He sits there, glaring at me. I stare back sheepishly.
'I'm on it,' I say. 'Really.'
Tim just harrumphs under his breath. 'Close the door on your way out.'
I walk back through to my office, stopping at the kitchen to make some coffee and feeling all those eyes watching me. Maybe I was a little too hard on everyone last night, or maybe it's that my nose hasn't quite stopped
