me, unreadable and intelligent.
There is a tiny roll of paper clipped to its leg. I reach for it, and the sparrow pecks down hard on my arm, drawing blood. An inky tongue darts out.
'Shit.' I'd forgotten about that, mobile phones are a sight easier than this stuff. The sparrow needs to know that it has the right person, and there's also a price. Blood's the easiest way. Satisfied that I am the correct recipient, the tiny roll of paper falls from its leg into my open palm.
The sparrow looks at Lissa and starts chirping angrily, fiercely enough that it's almost a bark, surprisingly loud from such a small creature. Lissa glares at it and the sparrow gives one final growl of a chirp, launches itself into the air, and is gone into the night.
'I don't think it was too happy to see me,' Lissa says. 'In fact, I know it wasn't.'
'Why?'
'Because I've outstayed my welcome, I shouldn't be here. The world wants me to go.'
'I don't want you to go.'
Lissa crosses her arms. 'Steven, you haven't been acting like it.'
'I-'
'Just look at the note, would you?'
I unfold the paper. Morrigan's handwriting is distinctive: all flourishes and yet completely legible, even when it's covered with bloody fingerprints. Still alive, Steven. You're not the only one. Don's in Albion, Sam is too. Get there if you're able. Your best chance is together.
Be careful.
M
I read it aloud. Lissa frowns as she looks from the note to me. She shakes her head. 'Steven, this doesn't feel right. It could be a trap.'
'Everything feels like a trap, though, doesn't it? Every street's a potential ambush. If we keep this up, whoever our opponent is will have won.' I heft up my backpack. 'Morrigan's alive. I have to cling to some sort of hope.'
Lissa's lips tighten, she's not happy at all. 'But there's hope and then there's insanity, Steve.'
I look her squarely in the eyes. 'I've got a bit of both, I reckon. And anyway, besides you and the contents of this pack, it's all I've got.'
I'm also much happier following Morrigan than trying to get Mr. D's attention. Lissa has explained the ritual, and why the craft knife is necessary. Anything else has to be worth trying first. Lissa knows that. It's hanging there in front of us, this secondary truth. Drawing Death the old way scares the shit out of me, and I can understand why most Pomps would be unfamiliar with the process. There's too much pain. It's one thing to have people wanting you dead, another entirely to take yourself to that place.
Now all I've got to do is get to Albion. It's a northern suburb, about twenty minutes away. Once I'm there I'm sure I can find Sam and Don. Pomps can sense each other-it's an innate thing, hard to describe, but you know when they're near and, if you know them well enough, you can tell just who is about. I haven't sensed any Pomps since the Hill and I'm a little hungry for it. There's a loneliness within me that is completely unfamiliar.
I realize that all my life there have been Pomps around and now there seems to be nothing but the polluting presence of Stirrers. I need my own kind with a desperation that is almost painful.
And I'm terrified that they'll be dead or gone by the time I get there.
13
I can't believe I'm asking this, but, are you going to steal another car?' Lissa asks.
I have to laugh. The thought had crossed my mind. 'I might be mad but I'm not stupid.' Besides, actually finding an unlocked car with its keys in the ignition in this part of the city looks like it would be impossible. I'd like to think I could hot-wire a car after breaking into it, but I can't.
I run up the steep stone staircase, two steps at a time, that leads from the river onto the jacaranda-lined traffic of Coronation Drive, and jog to the nearest bus stop, Lissa pacing me all the way. Behind me, a CityCat glides down the river toward the Regatta pier. I stare after the big blue catamaran's flashing lights as a bus comes to a halt. I clamber aboard, and show my pass like I'm just going to Albion for a curry or a pizza. How I wish I was, and with Lissa, too. But the truth is I'm probably going to Albion to die.
'Got a clear run at last,' the bus driver says. 'Some idiot messed up a bus, then stole a car.' I doubt he'd be so friendly if he knew I was the one responsible, which then makes me distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of traveling in a bus. Bad memories surface. Perhaps I should have stuck it out and found a car.
'Yeah, some people, right?' I say.
I sit in the middle of the bus nearest the exit. The driver's already put the bus into gear and is nudging into the traffic on Coronation Drive. From this angle I have a view of the west and I can see a thin trail of smoke darker than the night coming from the direction of the garage. All that's left of my car is blowing in the wind.
The bus rumbles toward the city then takes the Hale Street exit, peeling away from the skyscrapers to the right of us, heading toward the inner-city bypass and Albion. It's also how you get to Royal Brisbane Hospital, and the airport. I'm familiar with the hospital, most particularly the morgue, but it's been a long time since I've been to the airport, and that was only to pick up friends and family. There was a time I'd dreamed of traveling, just never got around to it. Wish I had. I catch myself at that thought-I've indulged in more than enough self-pity. I look at Lissa.
'What?' she asks.
'So tell me about Lissa Jones,' I whisper. No one seems to notice that I'm talking to thin air.
Lissa rolls her eyes. 'Gorgeous, single, thirty-something.'
'Something being?'
'Thirty, and only just. It was my birthday yesterday.'
'You could have told me earlier.'
She snorts. 'What, so you could buy me a cake?'
'Well, happy birthday, Miss Jones.' I dig the bottle of water out of my backpack and take what I reckon is a suitably celebratory swig.
'Never wanted to be a Pomp,' Lissa says.
'Really? I know you said it, but I thought you were joking.'
Lissa raises an eyebrow. 'Joking, eh? Because the last day has been such a barrel of laughs.'
'Sorry.' There's a bit of silence, and it's only going to deepen unless I dive in. 'For me it was always something I was going to be.' And it was. My parents had never said anything outright banning me from considering anything else, but they'd never really encouraged me to explore my options, either.
Lissa chuckles. 'I studied event management,' she says, and her smile widens. 'I certainly learned a lot about staging a good funeral.'
'Your parents used to take you to them?'
'Didn't yours?'
I laugh. 'I actually used to think that wakes were just something that people attended every day. I had a black suit from about the age of four.'
'Bet you looked cute.'
'Yeah, and none of that past tense, thank you.' I smile, though there's part of me still demanding that I stop flirting with a dead girl. I know I'm being unprofessional, and she knows I know but, then again, after what has happened to my profession, it hardly seems to matter anymore. 'I remember Dad stopping a stir in Annerley. The body was actually twitching, and Dad went up to the coffin and slapped the corpse on the face. Stalled it then and there. People were looking at him as though he was mad, and I was just grinning, proud as punch.
'Dad did most of the hospital gigs, the staff knew him. Doctors and nurses, particularly the nurses, they see all the weird stuff. They understand why our job is so important. So they were always polite around him, respectful. I liked that.'
Lissa smiles. 'Dad's boy, eh? I didn't want the job. I didn't want to spend my life going to funerals and
