brittle, final whispers before drifting out of hearing and further into the Deepest Dark.
The air chills. Both of us feel it. I don’t have my coat anymore, but Wal is the only one who is naked.
He shivers. ‘I don’t like this place.’
He’s not the only one.
6
‘I can’t believe I’m going to be late!’
Most of my clothes are in piles in the bedroom. But my suit, one of eight I own, hangs in the wardrobe. A Pomp never leaves their suit on the floor. Never. And I’m RM now, I have to set the standard. I slip into it like a second skin. It’s Italian, and cost me three weeks’ salary – and that’s my current salary. This meeting with Cerbo is formal; tracksuit and jumper just isn’t going to cut it. Lissa watches, then hits me with the most deafening wolf whistle. I can’t understand how she finds this body attractive. OK, maybe a little, I do work out. And the suit looks pretty fine. But still, I feel my cheeks flush at Lissa’s scrutiny.
I knot my tie, straighten everything, and even I have to admit that I look good.
Though not nearly as lovely as Lissa. I want to be back in bed with her. We never seem to spend enough time together. A moment apart is an ache in my chest. Tim might be right, new love and all that. But I never felt this intensely for Robyn. And Lissa is the only woman I have ever pursued to Hell.
‘Maybe I should call off this meeting, spend the morning with you. You’re not working till late, I’ve seen the schedule. We could …’
Lissa appears to give this some serious thought. ‘No, Tim would kill you, and me. Not after all we’ve done trying to get you engaged with the business again. The Moot’s a week away. You’ve got to – stop that!’
She doesn’t push me away, though, as my lips brush her neck. Then – I feel her body stiffening with the effort of it – she does, and I’m backing off the bed, away from the intoxicating smell of her. ‘You’ll crush your suit, or, at the very least, stretch the front of those pants.’
‘Oh.’ I look down. ‘I see what you mean.’
And I’m blushing once more. Lissa grins at me wickedly. I straighten my suit again.
Yeah, new love. Such new, new love.
‘How do I look?’
‘You’re the bomb,’ she says.
‘The bomb?’
Lissa laughs at me. ‘Just get out of here. Or your cousin will have an aneurism.’
‘How’s the hair?’
She squints at me. ‘Still thinning.’
‘I hate you.’
‘No, you don’t.’
I kiss her again, and then I shift to Number Four.
It’s another body punch of a shift. I miss my office by about fifteen metres. End up at the reception desk. Lundwall blinks at me.
Number Four. This is Australia’s Pomp Central, and the major node in the southern hemisphere’s Underworld–living world interface, which makes the architecture interesting in a multi-dimensional kind of way. Outside one part of the building, Brisbane is in the middle of a boiling, sweating summer. And outside another part, Hell is going through a rather mild spring. The seasons rarely correspond. In here, the air is loud with the hum of air-conditioners and the creaking of the One Tree.
Phones ring throughout the office. People are working busily and trying hard to ignore me and my clumsy entrance. I get the feeling that Tim has been doing a fair bit of storming around this morning. Tim is great at his job, but you don’t want to get him mad. He says it doesn’t help that I’m so casual about the whole thing. Well, I think we balance each other out perfectly.
But I
would
think that.
I stumble over to Tim’s office and open the door without knocking. He’s stubbing out a cigarette when I appear and looks guilty.
‘Gotcha,’ I say.
‘What if I was having a wank or something here?’
I smirk. ‘Hardly. If you had to choose between smokes and masturbation there’s no contest.’
‘Ah, your deductive capabilities astound me, Holmes.’
Other than the ashtray heaped with cigarettes, Tim’s room
The air chills. Both of us feel it. I don’t have my coat anymore, but Wal is the only one who is naked.
He shivers. ‘I don’t like this place.’
He’s not the only one.
6
‘I can’t believe I’m going to be late!’
Most of my clothes are in piles in the bedroom. But my suit, one of eight I own, hangs in the wardrobe. A Pomp never leaves their suit on the floor. Never. And I’m RM now, I have to set the standard. I slip into it like a second skin. It’s Italian, and cost me three weeks’ salary – and that’s my current salary. This meeting with Cerbo is formal; tracksuit and jumper just isn’t going to cut it. Lissa watches, then hits me with the most deafening wolf whistle. I can’t understand how she finds this body attractive. OK, maybe a little, I do work out. And the suit looks pretty fine. But still, I feel my cheeks flush at Lissa’s scrutiny.
I knot my tie, straighten everything, and even I have to admit that I look good.
Though not nearly as lovely as Lissa. I want to be back in bed with her. We never seem to spend enough time together. A moment apart is an ache in my chest. Tim might be right, new love and all that. But I never felt this intensely for Robyn. And Lissa is the only woman I have ever pursued to Hell.
‘Maybe I should call off this meeting, spend the morning with you. You’re not working till late, I’ve seen the schedule. We could …’
Lissa appears to give this some serious thought. ‘No, Tim would kill you, and me. Not after all we’ve done trying to get you engaged with the business again. The Moot’s a week away. You’ve got to – stop that!’
She doesn’t push me away, though, as my lips brush her neck. Then – I feel her body stiffening with the effort of it – she does, and I’m backing off the bed, away from the intoxicating smell of her. ‘You’ll crush your suit, or, at the very least, stretch the front of those pants.’
‘Oh.’ I look down. ‘I see what you mean.’
And I’m blushing once more. Lissa grins at me wickedly. I straighten my suit again.
Yeah, new love. Such new, new love.
‘How do I look?’
‘You’re the bomb,’ she says.
‘The bomb?’
Lissa laughs at me. ‘Just get out of here. Or your cousin will have an aneurism.’
‘How’s the hair?’
She squints at me. ‘Still thinning.’
‘I hate you.’
‘No, you don’t.’
I kiss her again, and then I shift to Number Four.
It’s another body punch of a shift. I miss my office by about fifteen metres. End up at the reception desk. Lundwall blinks at me.
Number Four. This is Australia’s Pomp Central, and the major node in the southern hemisphere’s Underworld–living world interface, which makes the architecture interesting in a multi-dimensional kind of way. Outside one part of the building, Brisbane is in the middle of a boiling, sweating summer. And outside another part, Hell is going through a rather mild spring. The seasons rarely correspond. In here, the air is loud with the hum of air-conditioners and the creaking of the One Tree.
Phones ring throughout the office. People are working busily and trying hard to ignore me and my clumsy entrance. I get the feeling that Tim has been doing a fair bit of storming around this morning. Tim is great at his job, but you don’t want to get him mad. He says it doesn’t help that I’m so casual about the whole thing. Well, I think we balance each other out perfectly.
But I
would
think that.
I stumble over to Tim’s office and open the door without knocking. He’s stubbing out a cigarette when I appear and looks guilty.
‘Gotcha,’ I say.
‘What if I was having a wank or something here?’
I smirk. ‘Hardly. If you had to choose between smokes and masturbation there’s no contest.’
‘Ah, your deductive capabilities astound me, Holmes.’
Other than the ashtray heaped with cigarettes, Tim’s room
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