'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.'
'Don't answer it,' I say. 'I can deal with that tomorrow, too.'
I hang up, and take a shower. But I can't wash HD or the thing I've done from me. Wal is on my biceps, and he looks frightened. When I'm done, I walk to the back balcony, the towel wrapped around my waist.
Another storm rolls in from the south, but this one's soft and earthy, and while it may hide a stir or two, it's just a storm. I watch it build for a while. Rain falls, light spatters at first, and then it's a real downpour.
Lightning bursts in the distance. I wait for the thunder to come rumbling through the suburbs, and when it does I turn to go inside.
Something catches my eye.
They must have been there for a while, silently waiting for my scrutiny: a shivering darkness spread across the lawn. Sharp beaks. Slick black feathers, glossy with the rain. A thousand crows, at least. And they have bowed down low, their wings extended.
'Awcus, awcus,' they caw.
I dip my head.
HD seems pleased, all this laid out for it and me. I raise a hand, gesture towards the sky. As one they beat their wings into the angry air, and batter hard against the rain. The vast murder of crows breaks from the ground, finds the night sky and is gone. I could have dreamed the whole thing, but for the dark feathers fluttering down.
Awcus.
I walk into the living room and pour myself a drink, a big one.
Lissa's asleep when I stumble back into the bedroom. The rain hammers on the iron roof but it's ebbing. HD roils within me, grinning its ceaseless grin. But I force it down. I'm tired and on my way to being drunk. I can't stifle a yawn. I settle next to Lissa, slide my arm around her. So tired. She moans something in her sleep, then calms.
The dying rain and Lissa's breathing are the most perfect sounds in the world. I'm not sure when sleep claims me.
Death. Mayhem. Madness and blood. The metronomic sweeping of the scythe.
But I sleep soundly.