the death of Rillman. One enemy removed. 'And maybe it's your time,' I say.
Rillman shakes his head. 'I've read your files, Steven, it's not in you.' He's waiting. There's a pulsing vein in his forehead and a slight smile breaks the line of his lips. Then he scowls and maybe, for the first time, I have the real measure of the man, and what I see is shocking. There is too much of my rage in there. 'You're just not that kind of guy.'
I grab him by his lapels and lift. 'I am now.'
This close, I can feel what it is that gives him power: the thing that Neti gave him that allows him to slip from the land of the living to the land of the dead, and back again. It shivers inside him like a second beating heart. This is a free pass between the gates of the two worlds, and it belongs to me! I don't know how Aunt Neti stole it, but I want it back. I yank him to his feet, touch his face with my hands, grip his skull hard, and draw that power from him.
It hurts. Because what he has is fed by pain and anger. I drag it into me; more power, more of the essence that is now so much of what I am. I understand the truth that is the Hungry Death, its persuasive presence, and the tiny thing that is the man before me. I close one hand around his neck, curious how that might feel, and then the other hand.
And I squeeze.
He grabs my wrists. He struggles. He kicks out at me, and thrashes. But I do not relax my grip. If anything I tighten it. HD laughs, and I laugh too, until I feel Rillman's spirit pomp through me. It bursts free, not towards the One Tree, but straight into the Deepest Dark. I watch it there, and then, something bright and eight-armed snatches out and grinds out the light within it.
I'm left staring up into the dark.
I drop Rillman's body.
Mog drifts towards me. I close a fist around its curving snath and back away from the corpse. Let the dust engulf the body.
I'm empty, weak. I can barely stand. My hands grip Mog so tightly that my knuckles ache. It's the only thing that is keeping me upright.
Wal pulls himself from my arm. 'What have you done?'
The body is there, between the two of us. It's answer enough.
34
I shift to my office. It's late. Ten. I can hear someone using the photocopier. Such an everyday sound.
I'm sick, but it's not from the shifting. Mr D was right, all I needed was practice. I smile, and spew into the bin, but it's not cathartic. There's no release in it. Just pain.
I slump into my throne. It's bigger now, far bigger, all encompassing. It dominates the room like the dark seat of some dark empire, and yet I hardly notice it. I settle in, and my pain ebbs, a little. But I have worse hurts. I put my head in my hands.
All the world's heartbeats rain down on me, all those clocks winding down, all that strength pulsing towards its undoing.
And that's the least of it. Every time I close my eyes they're there – those innocent deaths of which I was the cause, that final pomping of Rillman's soul.
I sit in my throne, sobbing, drowning in the world's pulse. Tim's is there. So is Lissa's. I can pick them out like threads. Mr D once said that the sound becomes soothing – the cacophony a lullaby. Here I am, struck by those billions of heartbeats, and then I feel Lissa nearby. I drag myself from the comfort of the throne and Mog blurs, becomes the knives again. They rest, bound by sheaths knitted from evening, on my belt. I shift through the wall, and there she is.
'Steven, are you all right?' She's been crying, too. I should have sought her out straight away, but I couldn't face her. I can barely face her now.
'Yes,' I say. 'Are you?'
'I think so.'
Then I'm holding her and I can almost forget the pain and guilt I'm feeling. Finally she pulls from me.
'You shouldn't have done that,' she says. A vein pulses in my head. Does she know? 'You shouldn't have come after me like that.'
'You know I had no choice. I've nothing left but you.'
'I know you were trying to do the right thing. But Christ, you -'
'I should have told you about Suzanne. No more secrets, right? I promise.'
She touches the knives at my belt, curiously.
'They're mine,' I say, 'and, to be honest, I don't want them out of my sight. I'm the only RM left standing. Mortmax International is my responsibility now.'
'And HD?'
'It's under control, I think… I don't know. Rillman – Solstice is gone. He won't be a problem anymore.'
In my office I can hear the unmistakeable ring of the black phone. I ignore it. Lisa looks at me questioningly. 'It can wait,' I say. 'We need to get out of here.'
Lissa holds me tight, and it's all I can do not to crush her in my grip, so desperately do I need that contact. 'Where do you want to go?' she asks.
'Home,' I say.
I shift with her in my arms. And we are back in my parents' place, in the hallway, Mum's perfume as strong as ever.
'We're going to move out of here. It was always a mistake to live here,' I say.
I can't bear my parents looking down at me from those photos. I know how they would judge me for what I've done, what I am.
'Are you sure?' Lissa asks, though I can tell she's pleased. This was never our home. I nod. 'Then we need to find a place that Stirrers can't just stroll into,' she says.
I can tell Lissa wants to talk this through, all of it. And I want to as well. But there's a weight of exhaustion pulling on her. She's worn out with worry, with the hell that has been this last week. And we have time. There's no Death Moot or Rillman to concern us now, and the Stirrer god isn't here yet.
'Try and rest,' I say. 'We have so much to do, but not now.'
I walk with her to the bed. Lissa's fast beneath the sheets and even quicker to fall asleep. I stand there looking at the person I have risked all for, and for a moment I feel better.
I call Tim.
'Jesus, what happened to you?' he asks. 'I came to the office, and you'd both just left.'
I don't want to talk about it. Tim's going to have to trust me. 'How are the Ankous?'
He's a while in answering. I can't tell if I've offended him, which probably means I have. 'They're all right. In shock, but that's understandable. Mortmax has suffered its biggest, loss… gain… Shit, I don't know, what's happened? What the hell do we even call you?'
'Steve,' I say. 'I'm your cousin, remember?'
'Steve. Solstice's offices, they were worse than anything Morrigan ever did. The rotting dead. Their rage and, God, their laughter. That's what's going to stick with me the most. They laughed as we stalled them, every single one, as though it didn't matter. I'm fucking terrified.'
I'm more than familiar with that laughter. 'Sometimes it's a reasonable response. Listen, Tim, we're going to have to start mobilising,' I say. 'The Stirrer god is coming. But we will be ready.'
'Are you OK? You sound -'
'I'm exhausted,' I say. 'Bloody knackered. I'll call you tomorrow. We both need to think, and to rest – that most of all. You can't do anything if you're tired.'
'I thought you couldn't sleep.'
'I can now,' I say. 'You should, too.'
'One more thing,' he says. 'The black phone in your office keeps ringing.'
