The Business of Death by Trent Jamieson

Author:Trent Jamieson [Jamieson, Trent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Horror, Mystery
ISBN: 9781841498614
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 7935214
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2011-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

The next morning I shift to the office, leaving Lissa to sleep under the protection of my Avian Pomps. Oscar is already there waiting outside my office. He nods at me, lets me pass through the door.

Downstairs someone is dismantling the broom cupboard’s door. I can feel it coming undone even from here, and I’m pleased.

It’s one place Rillman, or anyone else who might want to lock me away, can’t use.

I feel Cerbo’s arrival a few minutes later. Oscar knocks on the door.

“Come in,” I say.

Oscar swings open the door. “He says you are expecting him.”

“Yes, I am.”

Cerbo nods at me. Today he’s wearing a green bowler that most people could only ever get away with on St. Patrick’s Day, and only a certain few of those. He carries it off with a quiet dignity.

He turns to Oscar. “It’s quite all right,” he says. “I have no intention of killing your boss. Couldn’t if I tried.”

Oscar lingers at the door a moment longer.

“This isn’t Rillman,” I say. “He’s not going to be able to pull that one on me again.”

The door shuts. Cerbo raises an eyebrow at me. “Quite the hired goon.”

I let it slide. “Suzanne said you would show me what you know about the Stirrer god?”

Cerbo smiles. “And that is why I am here, Mr. de Selby.” He gestures at me. “Now, if you would stand up, and come toward me.”

“I was kind of expecting a PowerPoint presentation.”

“What I have is much better than any computer-based simulation. Now, up, up! Get your rear out of that chair!” He seems to enjoy shouting at an RM.

I get out of my throne and walk around the desk.

“Hold my hand,” Cerbo says reaching out toward me.

I hesitate, and he grimaces. “Oh, for goodness sake. You’re not even my type!”

That’s not why I’m hesitating, but his words push me hard enough into action.

Cerbo’s hand is warm, and he grips mine hard. “This is something new. A technique Suzanne has been developing. It’s based on the subset of skills required to shift.”

I groan.

Cerbo squeezes my hand. “No, it is not shifting per se. For one, it is more… well… cinematic, Mr. de Selby. And two, it demands a little more. You’ll see what I mean.” He closes his eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t let go. This is no pixie-dust journey we’re going on, and I’m not Superman.”

I’m trying to imagine Superman in a green bowler as Cerbo reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out his knife.

I have to fight the reflex to pull away. “What the fuck are you doing with that?”

Cerbo’s eyes flick open. He regards me disdainfully. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you. I’ve been Ankou for nearly two decades to an RM who is centuries old. You pick up a few things, but I have yet to uncover a really easy way to kill an RM without first killing their Pomps. Even Morrigan couldn’t do that. This knife is for me.” He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth, and then runs the blade over the back of the hand holding mine.

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