Free Psychomech by Brian Lumley Page B

glasses tilted together, but Garrison’s glass was empty. He lifted it to his lips anyway, then frowned and asked:
    ‘Anew life? What the hell am I drinking to?’
    ‘To tomorrow!’ said Schroeder.
    ‘Morgen und Morgen und Morgen!’ said Mina, who might also be a little drunk…
     
    Garrison drank a great deal of coffee but was still a little unsteady on his feet when he finally got down from his stool. He had committed the layout of the place to memory, however, and no one offered him assistance when he said goodnight and left the bar.
    Moments later he was in his room. The first odd thing he noticed was a fresh, pleasing scent of jasmine which he first took to be night-blooming flowers in the gardens. Finding his windows closed, he sniffed the air again and decided that perhaps the fragrance was merely a very expensive air-freshener. It could be a perfume, of course, but not even the most slatternly housemaid would wear that much! And anyway, that was not the sort of menial Schroeder would ever employ or even tolerate. On the other hand, his bed had been made and the place tidied up a little…
    His pillows were laid out in the- shape of a V.
    Vicki.
    She said that maybe there would be clues. OK, so she had been here, fooled with his pillows, left her calling card… and a scent for him to follow!
    There were nine suites on this floor, and since this seemed the obvious place to start…
    He left his bedroom and closed the door, cat-footed along the corridor from middle to end and back, then cat-footed in the opposite direction. At the last door he caught a faint whiff of jasmine. When he inclined his head towards the door the smell grew heavy and heady. A tingle of excitement thrilled him, set his scalp acrawl.
    He entered quietly, closed the door after him, touched the light switch and found it in the off position. Hopefully the layout of the room was the same as his own. He made his way to the bed, undressed, piled his clothes haphazardly on the floor, reached to turn back the covers. There was utter silence, not even the ticking of a watch or the sound of his own firmly controlled breathing.
    A cool hand touched his thigh and froze him rigid. It traced a path across his front, found and held him. Trembling slightly, he felt lips kiss him there, the merest touch.
    ‘Shower,’ she whispered. ‘I already have, and so must you.’
    ‘Do I smell?’ The words came out clotted and thick as sour cream.
    ‘You smell… beautiful,’ Vicki’s voice husked. ‘But wash the alcohol off your skin and the nicotine from your fingers. Men always smoke too much when they drink.’ She moved her fingers languidly, back and forth, back and forth, her grip firm for a moment or two before releasing him. ‘Go on, now. Do as you’re told.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Garrison wanted to say, but nothing came out.
    He showered quickly, sober as a judge now, finishing with a burst of icy water which shrank him in a moment, for a moment, and returned to her not quite dry. Getting into bed, he said, ‘Vicki, no cliches. If you tell me to be gentle with you I’m sure I’ll scream.’
    She gave a low laugh, her mouth burning as she kissed his chest, tasting him from nipples to navel. There she paused, with Garrison completely immobilized beneath her hands and mouth. ‘Richard, if you even gave a thought to being gentle with me, I would scream!’
    She turned her body, opened her warm thighs for him. Inverted, they let their pulses pound as they began to feast upon each other…
     
    ‘You see?’ said Thomas Schroeder to Mina. ‘I was absolutely right. I guessed it might be like this. No, I was sure. We think alike, Garrison and I.’
    He lay on his back, naked and stretched full length on his bed. His abdomen was criss-crossed with new scar-tissue that extended up under his rib-cage, round his left side and was continued on his back. His body was brown, however, and his tan masked the scar-tissue a little, so that his body was not