She really is wonderful, and things have never been so good between us. It’s almost like the unpleasantness of being accused of killing someone dealt with that awkward moment between Kinnesberg and me a few weeks ago. We’re closer than I ever expected, and it feels good. Right. Like we were always destined to be like this.
On the inside of my forearm, there was a pink mark where my arm had thawed. My eyes widened with shock. There, perfectly formed in my reddened skin, was a child-size handprint. I glanced around, doing a full sweep, listening for what I then knew was a giggle. I wondered if I could follow the breeze, and set off in the direction she took.
I quirked an eyebrow. I agreed to an interview about me, not Asterson. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the interview anymore. I shifted in my seat and looked back over at Rebecca, who was turning her attention to me. “Pollo, what do you know about the mysterious Thomas Asterson?”
“I’m actually here for an interview,” I say. “One of my ex-husbands told me I need to get a job.”
The air smelled of fire, burnt things, and something else. An earthy sandalwood aroma drifted
in the air. Gods damn, was that the Captain? Surely he could not smell as delicious as he looked.
