It hit her like a niggling worry, but swiftly spread.
Sleep became uneasy sleep.
Uneasiness woke her up.
When her eyes opened, she felt a kind of horror over the fact that she’d almost let herself drift off.
Her labs were in danger.
His labs were in danger.
Doug’s.
She bit her lip hard enough that it hurt, in efforts to keep herself awake.
Her hand shook as she turned the kettle around to check how much water was inside, then flicked the switch to turn it on.
She was running on caffeine and willpower right now.
Monitors were off, which bothered her. She’d gone through all of her pre-nap motions.
Napping was impossible.
Fuck, this sucked.
What happened next?
Either she finally did drift off, and she lost something precious to her, or she took action.
She checked the cupboard for a mug and found it empty. Another little heart stopping moment. There should be one mug in there.
She didn’t keep many. If she did, she was liable to let it slide and let dishes pile up.
With less, she was forced to wash them regularly.
She checked the sink.
She’d had guests, right. She was getting forgetful, she was so tired.
The bags and types of tea helped her piece it together.
Except there was one mug too many.
Right. They’d been going to the factory.
Oh.
She filled the sink without looking, and pulled each mug out in turn, washing with exaggerated care.
A few grew in her heart.
One last mug.
Doug’s mug.
She didn’t know who it had belonged to.
She wouldn’t have given up the mug if she hadn’t liked the person. It was how she operated. She was sentimental like that, she knew.
That same uneasiness that had woken her up settled into a feeling of loss, and the only face that fit the feeling was Doug’s. Her mentor’s.
She sat down on a box, the dirty mug in hand, and she thought of Doug.
With an edge of desperation to the thoughts, she started thinking about how she would protect Doug’s legacy.
■
Behaims – 2:45 PM
“Are we fighting?” Owen asked.
“Maybe,” Duncan said. “It depends on who needs help and why, and if we can do what we need to do to deal with Blake.”
“Whatever you need,” Owen said.
“Call Moira, get her to email the scanned books. I don’t want you kids in the thick of it,” Duncan said. “We approach this indirectly, unless a reading says we need another direct confrontation. A spell to help things along, at most. You, Gav, and the girls.”
“Okay. Shouldn’t be a problem. Speaking of… how are your hands?”
Duncan’s arms rested on his knees, hands limp and relaxed. He didn’t try to move them. Every time he tried, it hurt. “The painkillers help.”
“That isn’t answering the question.”
“An incomplete answer is still an answer. Be careful.”
“Yes, sir.”
He shut his eyes briefly. There was a dreamlike edge to his thoughts, with the codeine, and, in an amusing way, his perception of time was distorted.
The clocks around him ticked, many salvaged from his fiancee’s house.
It was soothing, the sound of his childhood home. It had driven her crazy.
Now things were on hold. They couldn’t stay at the house, and she didn’t want to stay with him.
He suspected he knew where things were going.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
He smiled.
Tick. Tick. . Tick.
His eyes opened.
Owen was walking down the hallway.
“Owen,” he said.
“Yes, uncle?”
“Get everyone packed up. We’re going back.”
“Back?”
“To Jacob’s Bell. It’s done, I’m fairly certain.”
Not without casualties.
“I, uh, okay,” Owen said.
“I’ll need help packing,” Duncan said, working his way to a standing position. “You and your twin can get some driving practice in, I suppose.”
“You’re coming?”
“I’m coming.”
■
The Sisters – 2:40 PM
“Yes,” the Elder Sister said. “I’ll do you one better. If you can give me the bill for a retrofit, new paint and logos on your trucks, I’ll pass it on to the city, and I will sell you to them.”
Her office overlooked the hallway, just above the altar where she could address the lesser Sisters. Candles burned around the window, making the aperture look like a gate lined by flame.
The other Sisters were making their way here and there downstairs. Guiding the initiates. Not a large number, but enough. Girls with good grades, good positions, who either weren’t going home for Christmas, or who were willing to stay if it meant getting an edge elsewhere.
They would be eased into this. The blindfolds would come off. Later they would see a practitioner at work. Later still, they would be awoken, then the rings would be granted.
Hopefully they would have the torch spirit back before then. It would be embarrassing if they didn’t.
The guy on the other end of the phone was talking. She listened to the tail end only, then cut in. “I can make this really simple. Cut twenty percent of your active staff. Pay particular attention to the guys who make mistakes. Who hit mailboxes, or consistently miss days. Set money aside. Call friends with garages, and be prepared to tell them you’ll pay extra for a fast job.”
Protests.
“Don’t commit wholesale or rush ahead, but do trust me. You can start looking at files and talking to a trusted employee about who you can cut. You should hear from me before you need to start with the actual layoffs.”
More protests. He was on the fence, but this was the biggest protest yet.
Why should I trust you?
Success or failure hinged on her reply.
“I’m on your side, Mac,” she said. “If I disappoint you, I hurt myself, and I hurt my own employees. I’m speaking to you from the heart, and I’m going to help you, if you give me the chance. T.O. Plow will become part of the city services, and they really need better plow services after this last storm. Nobody else in Toronto is positioned to deploy in numbers like you can. You stand to make a small fortune.”
The arguments were more feeble this time. Less a resistance and more the unease of anyone facing a major change in their life.