"Are you going to moon all the time we're here?"

Phyllis Gabor pushed open the connecting door between her room and her daughter's, casting her companion a derisive look. It was later the following afternoon and, after a fraught flight and a bad-tempered arrival in Toronto, mother and daughter were slowly making themselves at home in one of the city's most expensive and centrally located plaza hotels. For Phyllis, nothing would do but the best when travelling, and as a result she and her companion had secured top floor luxury rooms, linked by an interconnecting oak door and with the best possible views of the surrounding metropolis.

Right now, however, Emily's bedroom looked far from the sophisticated top level accomodation it had been billed as, for her case lay open in the middle of the room and belongings were haphazardly strewn across the furniture. The wardrobe door was ajar, as if the singer had at least begun to unpack but had given up midway through, preferring to curl up on her bed and lose herself in contemplation.

Emily started at the interruption now, glancing up at her mother in surprise.

"Huh?"

"Whatever planet you're on, get off it and come back down to earth." Phyllis said bluntly, coming into the bedroom proper and pushing the door to behind her. "We have a lot of things to discuss, and you can't tell me you're jetlagged. You fly all the time, and I was under the impression I didn't raise a wuss."

"You didn't raise me at all." Emily said frankly. "And I'm not jetlagged. I was thinking, that's all. About Mike and Grandpa and stuff back home."

"Well, don't." Phyllis snapped. "We have an itinerary to go over, and if I'd known you were going to be like this, I'd have sent Jetta with you instead. I might not have raised you as a child to an adult, but I've damn well raised you from a half-baked star to a major league celebrity. So cut the lip and listen to me, huh?"

"I'm listening." Emily sighed, turning her full attention on her mother. "Why did you come with me, anyhow? Why didn't you send Jetta, if you hate touring with me so much? You didn't have to."

"When I signed you to my label, kid, I did it so that I could keep my own eye on your career and make sure you fulfilled your potential." Phyllis said quietly. "And I intend to do that. I manage your interests, just like Jetta manages Nancy's. It's one of the perks of being tied up in the whole Gabor enterprise, and a lot of musicians would kill for the kind of exposure and attention you've had since your brat was born. Some singers disappear into obscurity after the kind of rift you made with your recording company. You're a good singer - it runs in your genes, so of course you are. And I have a personal interest in making sure you do the best that you can. Particularly here. Considering the location."

Her eyes became stony.

"If he so much as sets foot near this hotel, I'll rip his throat out." She added flatly. "Jetta might be sharp, Em, but Eric is mine. I wouldn't send you to Canada without coming with you. Not after the last time he tried to worm his way into your life. I might not be the perfect mother, but I'm not letting you get wound up with your father. Whatever happens."

"I have no intention of getting involved with my father. Now, or ever." Emily shrugged her shoulders. "Mom, I don't need you to watch over me like some starling chick that's fallen out of its nest. I'm not a helpless little girl. Nancy's younger than me. She's always been watched over. She's naive - obsessed with her music and not always clear on the other stuff around her. I'm not. I know what people can be like and I know how to exploit my chances. I'm not just a star because of you and Rory Llewelyn. I'm a star because of me, too - if you hadn't forgotten that."

"And if you want to stay a star, Emily Jayne, you'll do as I say." Phyllis said cuttingly. She dropped a sheet of paper down on the bedcovers. "Here. This is your schedule - it's been amended since we discussed it in my office last week, so I advise you read it and take note of the new tour dates."

"You added new dates?" Emily frowned, scooping it up and glancing it over. "How come you didn't tell me that?"

"Because it was last minute, and because it won't add too much work to your schedule. Certainly not much travelling." Phyllis's tones became impatient. "Are you going to question everything I say this afternoon, Em? Because I already have a headache."

Emily sighed.

"No." She said. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry. Maybe I am crabby from the flight, and missing Mike. I just wish you'd mentioned them to me before, that's all. I like to know what I'm doing before I do it."

"Well, if any other offers come in while we're here, I'll be sure to run them by you first." There was a note of irony in Phyllis' voice, but her expression had softened, and Emily shuffled back on her bed, leaning up against the headboard.

"I'd appreciate it if you would." She said quietly. "Maybe you can shunt things into Jewel's itinerary without telling them, but I don't like to work that way. It's hard to get motivated for a big show that I didn't know was taking place till ten hours earlier."

"Maybe we need to work on your motivation then." Phyllis looked thoughtful. "But anyhow. Read that through, all right? I don't think it's too bad - not overly different from what we went over last week, anyway."

"I can live with it." Emily nodded. She pursed her lips. "You know, Mom, it seems ages since I've been here. How big is the following here, really? The last time I can remember coming north of the border was when I was still a rookie, working for Riot and in tandem with Blade. That's years ago now. Can they really still care about me as a musician? I mean, it's like I've shunned Canada and been everywhere else in the meantime. All over the States, many times. To Europe, even. Don't you think people will be annoyed?"

"It's all to do with supply and demand." Phyllis said thoughtfully. "They've had all of your music, your single releases, your albums. The last album we released, we put it out here a week before it hit the shelves in the US, just so Canada got the Sirena hype. They know you haven't been here, but we've always kept the line that touring is often difficult due to demand and your other commitments. And now you are here. So people won't care. They'll just be glad to finally see you."

"And why haven't I been here, Mom?" Emily pursed her lips. "Is it because of Dad?"

"Logistical reasons." Phyllis said simply. "Nothing more. If you think I'd let Eric Raymond bother me..."

"I know he does." Emily interrupted. "And he bothers me too. I don't want to be anywhere near him. But I don't need to be protected from him. He can go to hell. I'm not interested."

"I don't remember you being quite so strong the last time you met." Phyllis said astutely. "I don't mind paying him off to keep him out of your hair, but the less I have to do it, the better. Last time, the press didn't get wind. This time...well, they might. So make sure you do keep away from him, okay?"

"Don't worry. I intend to." Emily stretched, closing her eyes. "Do I have the rest of this afternoon off?"

"You do." Phyllis nodded her head. "But don't just spend it sleeping and lolling around this place. I want you prepared for your first television appearance - it's less than twenty four hours away now."

"I will be." Emily's eyes snapped open. "I'm a good interviewer, Mom. You know that."

"Yes, I do." Phyllis relented. "Just make sure you're on form. All right?"

"I'll be better than on form." Emily promised. "But right now I'm gonna take a nap and unwind. Maybe go swim in the pool...relax. Then, when they shoot questions at me tomorrow, I won't be even remotely thinking about Eric Raymond and whether or not he cares that I'm in Canada."

It was not the most attractive of places to organise a rendez-vous.

The man pulled his jacket more tightly around him, fingering the steel of the revolver in his pocket as he leant up against a crumbling brick wall, waiting. He had already had one phone call from back home, giving him more instructions, and despite himself, he had felt indignant.

Sure, money was money. But was it worth it to be nagged at every few minutes like an errant schoolboy?

"I've learnt a lot from being on the inside." he muttered. "I made contacts. Met people. Found out things I didn't know before. He could have the good sense to trust me, at the very least. For the amount he's paying me, the job will get done."

A hiss from the shadows made him turn, squinting into the blackness as he registered the fact he had company. A frown crossed his features and, surrepticiously tightening his grip on the revolver, he crossed the street, slipping deftly into the crack between two derelict buildings. A car roared down the road, sending splashes from the puddles up his jacket and he cursed, ducking into the darkness. Another dry cleaning bill, and he'd barely even begun.

"You the guy?"

The stranger in the shadows spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"Well, if I ain't, you're in trouble, aren't you?" The man said acidly. "Don't worry. I'm who you're looking for."

He bit his lip, trying to make out his companion's features, but in the darkness, it was difficult to get more than a blurred outline.

"Do you have it?"

"You got the money?"

"Of course." He bit back his impatience, loosing his grip on the gun and fumbling in his jacket for the wad of notes. He hesitated, flicking through it. Then he raised his gaze.

"Three hundred." he said quietly. "Right here."

The stranger stepped out of the shadows slightly, and for the first time he saw the face of the one he was doing business with. He raised an eyebrow.

"You're just a kid."

"If you don't want the dope, man..."

"I want it." The man said quietly. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here. You sure that it's good stuff?"

"The best, dude." The kid put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small bag filled with white pills. "Here you go. The whole shebang - for the three hundred bucks."

"Here. Take your money." The man held it out, reaching for the drugs. The youth let out a laugh, grabbing the money and holding the polythene bag out of reach.

"You're too slow, grandpa." He said derisively. "Thanks for the pay off."

He whipped the drugs back into his pocket, turning on his heel and haring off into the darkness. Anger seared through the man's soul, and he reached into his jacket, pulling out the revolver.

Three shots rang out into the black night, followed by the muffled thump of someone falling headlong onto concrete.

Picking his way carefully through the dirty, deserted streets, the man approached the body of the youth who had tried to cheat him. Blood seeped from wounds in his head and back, and a quick check of the pulse proved that the youngster was dead.

He shook his head, tut-tutting under his breath.

"Noone here to hear you scream." He whispered. "Silly move, boy. Pity you won't get to learn from your mistakes."

He crouched at the youth's side, reaching into his pocket for the bag of pills. Glancing at them in the dim light, he ascertained that they were what he sought, then slipped them into his own pocket. As an afterthought, he took the youth's hand in his, carefully uncurling the bloodstained fingers from around the wad of bills.

"I might as well take these, too." He said aloud, his tone level. "After all, you don't need them any more."

He stood, securing the money into his jacket and then glancing at the flecks of blood and gunshot residue on his fingers. He shook his head slowly.

"Such a mess." He said thoughtfully. "But it'll be a while till they find you, boy - another would be dealer shot up in the backstreets of Toronto. Meanwhile, I'm off to bigger and better things. Phase one of my plan is complete."