22 The Shriving
Heimdall was standing over Tom, where he was sprawled in the messy bed, with Karla nestled sleepily at his side. “Awaken,” said the godling. No one should be that muscular this late in the evening, Tom thought.
“You will never be as good an alarm clock as a wet dog’s tongue licking my face,” Tom grumped. “Not that I want you to lick my face, Heimdall.” He kicked aside the covers and got out of bed. Karla grinned and dove under the covers to hide her virtues.
“Get yourselves some food and drink, and make your final preparations for the Shriving. We are only half an hour from the stroke of midnight.”
“It will be a breeze,” Tom said. “I will just confess to watching a lot of porn, and we will be good. I don’t need to watch it anymore when I can make it with Karla here.”
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