So what do we do?" I ask, staring at the ink-stained ground. "I can't see how I can keep you safe."
"First we're going to need cover," Lissa says, and heads back toward the hospital car park. I follow, hurrying to keep pace.
"You're going to have to bind me to you and this realm," Lissa says.
"I'm unfamiliar with the process. I've heard of bindings, but never seen it done."
"There's a reason for that. OK, a couple of them, the first being that it's old. You wouldn't have come across it unless you're particularly interested in the history of pomping. And there really isn't much written about Pomps. It takes quite a bit of research." Lissa smiles, a little too mockingly for my liking. "And, no offense, you don't exactly strike me as the studious type."
I take immediate offense at that. "Morrigan never exactly encouraged it."
Lissa nods. "Well, we know why now. Anyway, people don't talk about this stuff, in the specific. You have to really dig. The process is… It's a little confronting." She flashes me another smile. "But if we don't do it, I'm worried that Morrigan will pomp me, and you need me." She's so right, but I rail against that a little. She can see it in my face, and her laugh is both affectionate and mocking. "Don't you try and suggest otherwise, laddy."
We're under the cover of the car park. "OK, so how do I do it? How do I bind you? It sounds pretty kinky, you know."
Lissa reddens, just a little, and I get the feeling that she's more embarrassed for me than anything else. "Well, it sort of is."
"What do you mean?"
"Most of these types of ceremonies involve blood, but in this case that's not enough, because you're not pomping, you're binding." Her eyes seem to be having trouble meeting mine. "You're going to need semen. Your own semen."
"Here?" I turn in a quick circle. There's no one about, but this is a car park. Of course I'm sure there's been plenty of that here, but not mine. "I'm supposed to-"
"This is no time to be squeamish, or prudish," Lissa says impatiently. "There might be a whole flock of bloody sparrows on their way."
"Pressured is the word that comes to mind, actually."
"Performance anxiety, eh? Well, I'm dead, it'll be our little secret. Besides, I've already seen you naked."
"Well, there's naked and then there's naked." I am utterly exposed out here, and it's cold. The odds of me being able to ejaculate are pretty grim. Lissa leers at me. That doesn't help.
She rubs her hands together. "Well? Pants down, prong up."
"Could you look away?"
"I'll look away," she says. "Just think about some of those busty trollops and you'll be OK."
Wicked woman!
There's got to be cameras around here somewhere. I imagine the image as I, um-present-another addition to the caseload against me.
"Hurry up," Lissa hisses at me. "I can hear a car coming."
OK, deep breaths: a half dozen of them. I know that I have to do this, that there's nothing else to be done, but I'm feeling very peculiar about it. In fact, I'm feeling very dirty-old-mannish. Friction isn't enough. Nor is strength of will.
It has to be done. It has to be done.
And it is. And at the moment of ejaculation, a quick hard orgasm, I see Lissa's face.
I open my eyes, and I'm looking into Lissa's face. Oh. My. God.
"You were supposed to look the other way," I grumble, my face burning.
"Good work," she says, ignoring me, though she seems a bit flushed, too.
I've got the semen in a handkerchief. I'm not sure if I've ever been more embarrassed in my life.
"Can I have a look at your, um, handiwork?"
I comply, careful to keep my distance.
She frowns, looks like she's doing maths in her head. I'm not exactly sure how the dead perceive the world but she couldn't possibly be counting the little swimmers. "That should be enough."
"It better be."
The car drives slowly past. I give it a wave. Nothing to see here, now.