Selling Out (49 page)

Williams regarded the imp for a moment. “I see that my services in the psychological department are under threat here. Are all imps this way?”

“Few of them with my intellect or hidden arcane powers of insight, ma’am,” Thingamajig said modestly.

“I don’t like being reduced to a two-minute magazine piece either,” Lila added. “Although you’re right.” She twisted her head around to look at the imp. “Get lost again. I have something to talk about you’re not allowed to hear.”

“Just because you ask so nicely,” the imp said and bounced off her shoulder, immensely pleased with itself. Somehow it flattened like a shadow and was able to slide between the door and the frame in order to get out.

Williams watched it go and then looked up at Lila. “Change your mind about Alfheim?”

“Everything about everything in these cases is wrong,” Lila said. “Including me. What I did was wrong, but I had to do it. I never thought I’d be the kind of person to be in this position. I feel cheated, like someone should have told me how it is and I should’ve had some box to tick Yes or No. You should have told me about the real reasons I was made. You should have told me about the Artifact. Delaware should have admitted she wanted to use my parents as a good excuse to find out about the necromancers. I should have paid more attention to the real differences between my world and the demons’ so I didn’t end up starting more wars than I can handle. I should have objected right from the start. But none of those things happened. And I hate that. I resent it. I want everything to be otherwise. I want to be right. I want to be good. I want to be blameless. I want to be able to fix things. I want to be free. I want to be normal. I’m not any of that. And there’s something wrong with me. My arms and legs hurt at the joins. Zal’s wife—I didn’t even know he had one—is dead because of me. I don’t know if he knows yet. And Mom and Dad are dead and now I have to tell Max it was my fault. And the only thing I feel able to do is stand here and whine to you about it like I’m four years old. And I hate that.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to figure out what’s going on is what,” Lila said. “And if you’ve got that Artifact hidden somewhere then you’d better hope it never gets into the wrong hands. I’ll be looking into it, and if I find it I’ll take it for myself. You can be sure of that.” She left her statement there, to allow the other woman time to offer an explanation or to object, but the doctor just nodded.

“There’s a lot of work to do, and not much time. And you have some grieving to do, and other people who need attention. You’d better get to it. When you’re ready, check in with the medical staff but it’s up to you when. We’re here to help you.”

“Sure,” Lila said, letting the word be as ambiguous as it possibly could. She left the door open on her way out and went to find the others. They were in a small staff lounge. As she approached she heard them talking and the sound of a dog crunching a biscuit. Without knowing exactly why she found herself stopping outside before they saw her.

“For the last time, who doesn’t like disco?” Zal was saying. “Disco was one of the great unifying and emancipating forces of modern musical history which broke boundaries of race, class, and gender identification. Plus, it sounds fantastic. I’ll tell you whose soul doesn’t dance when it hears disco, wankersouls, that’s who. Disco is a celebration of everything that binds us together. And it’s fun. And it feels good. And I’m sick of the rest.” He sighed on an inward breath and then outwardly too. Then he said much more quietly, “Plus I always wanted to be like James Brown, or, in a pinch, Olivia Newton-John.”

“You’re older than you look,” Malachi murmured. “At least you have the hair for the second one.”

“I like disco,” Teazle said, in his human voice. “But I don’t like this coffee. What’s it made out of? Cat piss? It’ll never catch on.”

“He’s right,” Max sounded weary. “When Lila comes we can get something better . . . I mean . . . can we go now? I want to go home.”

Lila walked around the corner and stood in the doorway. She tried to smile and she thought she almost succeeded. “Come on,” she said. “It’s time. Let’s go home.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J
USTINA ROBSON was born in Yorkshire, England, in 1968. She studied philosophy and linguistics at University. After only seven years of working as a temporary secretary and 2.5 million words of fiction thrown in the bin, she sold her first novel in 1999.

Since then she has won the 2000
amazon.co.uk
Writers’ Bursary Award. She has also been a student (1992) and a teacher (2002, 2006) at the Arvon Foundation, in the UK. Her books have been variously shortlisted for the British Science Fiction Best Novel Award, the Arthur C. Clarke Award, the Philip K. Dick Award, and the John W. Campbell Award.

In 2004 Justina was a judge for the Arthur C. Clarke Award, on behalf of the Science Fiction Foundation.

THE NO SHOWSVS.CYNIC GURU

T
hrough the agency of arcane powers beyond imagination Zal’s band, the No Shows, have been in collaboration with real-world band Cynic Guru, so that together they are able to bring you a free track for your entertainment. Listen live to “Doom,”* at
www.thenoshows.com
.

This page is dedicated to
Cynic Guru
as a thank you for allowing themselves to be temporarily possessed by beings from beyond. They are:Roland Hartwell (vocals, violin, guitar)

Ricky Korn (bass)

Oli Holm (drums)

Einar Johannsson (lead guitar, vocals)

They also write and record many great songs entirely their own that have nothing to do with channelling the mystical aether of imaginary space-time. More information about them, their tour dates, and their music can be found on their Web sites:
www.cynicguru.com
and
www.myspace.com/CynicGuru
.