The Business Of Death, Death Works Trilogy (65 page)

And she’s out of that room before I can open my mouth.

I rub my jaw, spin on Suzanne. “You set me up! You arranged for her to come home!”

Suzanne’s face hardens. “You didn’t see this coming?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why the hell did you flirt with me?”

My face is burning. “I never—”

“You did. The coat, the lingering looks.”

“I thought I was just playing your game.” And then rage explodes inside me. “Piss off, now.
GO!
”

“I’ll let you get away with that, but only because I feel a certain element of sympathy. Particularly with what lies ahead. But you will never talk to me like that again.” Suzanne shifts away.

I’m left in the empty room. I run to the hallway. Lissa’s nowhere to be seen. Out onto the verandah, and then onto the street. Heat slaps me in the face nearly as hard as Lissa’s right hook.

I don’t mind the pain. I deserve it.

Where the hell is Lissa?
I close my eyes, feel her heartbeat. She’s back in the kitchen. I run to her.

“You lie to me about not meeting her, about not accepting her offer, and then you’re kissing.” She wipes at her eyes. “If you want to be with one of them, I can understand that. They’re your people now. But to try and keep us going, while—oh, Jesus, Steven. I never thought you’d be such a prick.”

“Yeah, I’m a prick. I won’t argue with you. I’m an absolute arsehole.”

“Agreeing with me isn’t helping your case.”

“But I love you.”

“Did you take up her offer?”

“Yes, but I had no choice.”

“You could have chosen to tell me about it,” Lissa says. “You could have told me everything. I’m a grown-up. You could have trusted me with this.”

“There’s no lies between us,” I say, which is technically a lie. Why do I keep digging myself deeper and deeper holes?

“Just half-truths.” Lissa shakes her head. “So, Steven, you got your ten extra Pomps. But you lost one as well. I’m not going to take this. Not now. I’m leaving.”

“OK,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. I’m sick with shock. “But I love you.”

“Maybe you think you do. But this isn’t love. These lies aren’t love.” She steps toward me. Her heart is racing at 130 bpm, and then it slows, shifts down to eighty. “Now, you know what you need to do?”

“No.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m resigning.”

“But—”

“If you don’t do this I’ll hate you forever.”

“We need you. Mortmax needs you.”

“Don’t you dare play that card. You’ll do all right. You have her help, after all.”

“I don’t want her help.”

“It didn’t look like it when I walked in.”

“Lissa—”

“Just do it!”

I look into her eyes, and she holds my gaze. I reach over and she grabs my hands. It was such an easy gesture once, but now so awkward. My hands shake. She’s closed to me, but then she opens up, and I can feel her anger as a visceral thing, a burning agony. It shocks me, even though I was expecting it.

I don’t want to do this. It’s too painful. I’d let go but she’s holding my hands so tightly that my fingers hurt.

I draw the energy back from her, the bit of me that makes pomping possible. I unpick it from her essence. I’ve never had to do this before, and maybe I couldn’t if Suzanne hadn’t taught me. It’s as easy as opening a door. But what it reveals … Here, I can see how I have
wounded her. How stupid I was. We’re both crying by the time it’s done. My lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” Lissa says. She pushes past me, heading into the bedroom. “Don’t follow me!”

A few minutes later, she’s back in the kitchen with a bag bulging with her clothes. She drops it, and a black skirt and blouse tumble free. She glowers, kicks her bag away in frustration. She’s no longer a Pomp. She’s no longer my girl.

I crouch down to help her pick up her things. She pushes my hands away.

“I can manage,” she says. “You don’t need to leave, I’ll—you can stay here.”

“You’ll leave me in your parents’ house? Where everything will just remind me of you?” She bends down, grabs the clothes and shoves them back into her bag.

“We can work this out. I can do better. No more lies.”

Lissa scowls, her lips move as though to frame some sarcastic response and then she seems to think better of it. “I need time to think.”

“But I—”

“And you have a Death Moot to run. Don’t let me get in the way of that.”

Why
didn’t I tell her about Suzanne? What stopped me from mentioning it? I have no excuse, or I have far too many.

“Lissa, I was set up. I’m sure of it. She wanted you to walk in.” Even to my ears that sounds far too desperate.

“So I could see you kissing her?”

“Yes! This won’t happen again … Christ, it didn’t happen the first time.”

“Really?” Lissa throws up her hands. “Yeah, I’ve seen how it didn’t happen. Don’t you see? I’ve watched all this play out before.” Lissa picks up her bag. “I can’t be this person. Not with you. Mom and Dad,
they had their problems, and I swore I would never be like that. And I won’t.”

“But—” I reach out toward her.

She steps away from me, throws her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll come back for the rest later.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere but here. And don’t send any of your bloody Avians after me.” She walks back down the hall, and I follow her to the front door.

“This could have been so good,” she says.

“It still—” Lissa shuts the door in my face. I flinch backward, then grab the handle, fling the door open. Lissa is hunched down on the stairs, sobbing.

“I thought you were going away.”

She clambers to her feet. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Stay with me, I can protect you.”

Lissa’s eyes flare. “You can’t even protect yourself! The prick blew up our car, Steven. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be waiting for a fucking taxi right now! He killed Travis and Jacob, he nearly killed Oscar.”

“But he’ll track you down.”

“I’m not a Pomp now. You know that’s going to make it harder. I’ve pulled out of the game. If he comes after me, and if you do, too, you better be prepared for the consequences.”

“You can’t—”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You stay away until I’m ready. To forgive you, or not to forgive you. You lied to me. And you lied to me about her.”

“I wanted to spare your feelings.”

“No, you didn’t want it to be
difficult
. And that worked out so well. Love isn’t easy, Steven. It’s hard.”

I want to ask her why she’s leaving, then. Why she’s taking the easy option. But I’m the one who has wounded her. I have no right.

She slams her bag onto her shoulder again, and swings around toward the road. “Don’t come near me.”

I stand there, my mouth hanging open. I deserve it. I’m a fool. I can no more touch her now than when she was a ghost.

A taxi pulls into the street. Lissa looks back at me as it stops beside her. Her eyes are hard. Then she jumps into the cab. I watch it go.

There’ll be time to make it right. But not now. Now she’s safer away from me. I have to believe that. The day after tomorrow, the Death Moot begins.

A sparrow looks at me. I nod at it. And send the little Avian Pomp after the taxi.

I
’m still in shock on the morning of the Moot. A day of prep has done little to dull the pain. Lissa’s taken up residence in a hotel. The blinds are shut, and my Avians have no view of what is going on beyond them. Only her heartbeat reassures me that she is alive.

It took me three years to get over Robyn. I’m not going to lose Lissa.

Tim was more sympathetic than I thought I deserved. Maybe he’s terrified I’m going to lose it. By 8:00 a.m. he has rewritten my opening address, and left me to link my speech with some animations I’ve sourced from Cerbo. I’ve never used PowerPoint before, but have found some amazing transitions. I’m feeling almost professional.

It must be the calm before the storm. Rillman’s been quiet, there have been no attacks, which worries me. What is he planning? Not a single RM has called me. Perhaps they are steeling themselves for the two days ahead, perhaps they are too busy hiding from Rillman. I’d have at least expected Suzanne to ring to gloat, or to apologize.

Only Solstice gets in contact. Reckons he might have something on Rillman, but he wants to follow it up first. I talk to him about Lissa. He offers me some security, two guards. I think about it. Suzanne said she had someone watching Lissa. But do I trust her? Not really. Not after what she pulled in my kitchen. I give him Lissa’s address. The Death Moot is going to keep me busy for the next forty-
eight hours, and my Avians certainly aren’t going to be able to get inside the hotel she’s staying in.

Then I check on Oscar. He’s doing OK, but Brooker doesn’t expect him to be out of bed for another week. I talk to Oscar about Lissa, and he listens, but offers no comment. I tell him I think I’m ready to look after myself, and he smiles. “Yeah, I think you are, too.”

I receive one call from the Caterers, everything is prepared, that the bridge is waiting.

I walk over to Tim’s office, knock on the door.

He opens it, and smiles at me nervously. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He comes over to me, straightens my tie. “You are now. How’d you go with that PowerPoint presentation? Hope you didn’t put in too many fancy transitions.”

“Of course not.”

I grasp his hand and we shift onto the Kurilpa Bridge.

And here it is. Everything has been set up for this moment. This Moot. The bridge is just wide enough for our marquees. It certainly wouldn’t be in the mortal realm, not if you needed to accommodate all the pedestrian traffic as well. The marquees are worth the rather large amount of money we paid for them. As is the lighting, and the aircon, which is keeping the space to a comfortable twenty-five degrees.

The Orcus sits around the table, each in their throne. Li An smiles at me. Kiri nods. Anna Kranski gives me a little salute. Devesh Singh is mumbling into his coffee. Charlie Top, now Middle and South Africa’s RM, is tweeting like mad on his phone. Suzanne is sitting at the other end of the long table, a coffee by her side.

Here we talk as equals. And we’re all looking a bit ridiculous. I’ve bought them all Akubras to wear—it seems the thing at these international conferences. I want to laugh but the Hungry Death bubbles beneath my skin, whispering to its eleven selves, calling them, and they call back. Its presence has never manifested itself so strongly
before. I find it quite terrifying, and a relief that it’s not just focused in one person.

How could you handle all that hunger and not go insane?

En masse
there is a density and a gravity about the RMs that is impressive. I can’t quite believe that I share it. Neill’s absence is a void that can’t be ignored, though no one is talking about it. That will come later, I guess.

I begin my speech welcoming them all here. They laugh in the right places, though I can’t say my delivery is that good. Lissa helped me come up with most of the jokes. I’m still not sure what happened. How could I break her heart so easily? Maybe I thought I’d earned it.

The Moot progresses. The first topic on the agenda is something small, a matter of profits in the last quarter. Suzanne brings that one to the table. I’m actually surprised that she uses a PowerPoint presentation; I was kind of expecting something with animated dust or lightning. The topic is dry, but people seem interested. Maybe it’s a break from all the events of the last week. The morning session moves surprisingly swiftly, though I don’t hear too much of it.

I’m thinking about my core presentation this afternoon. I have so much to discuss, and, even with Tim’s rewrites, I’m not sure that I can pull it off.

Lunch is called at around twelve-thirty.

With all of us together the air is charged with the sort of electricity you’d expect just before a massive storm. In fact, there’s one forming in the western suburbs. Thick, rain-heavy cloud is growing darker and darker, and it’s heading our way. I’m outside, taking a breather from all the food and the talk. Li An has joined me on the bridge. I don’t know why, though. He hasn’t said anything yet, and we’ve been out here for ten minutes.

From the bridge we can see both the Underworld and the living one. On one side is the cultural precinct starting with the sharp lines and angles of the Gallery of Modern Art, and on the other rise the
skyscrapers that make up the CBD. The storm is building on Mount Coot-tha. I watch as the Caterers run from line to line on the marquees, double-checking that everything is as it should be, and will stand up to the tempest.

Li An nods at the Caterers and finally speaks. “Happens all the time, these storms,” he says. “You get used to it.” He spits out an olive pit and frowns. “Never get used to the miserable catering, though. After ten thousand years you’d think they’d know how to use a bain-marie.”