Excerpt:

It was fortunate that Daniel spotted Mischa coming down the sidewalk through the kitchen window, as it let him get the first round of hysterics out of the way in private. He managed to get himself under a modicum of control by the time Mischa came abreast of their front walk, laying his spoon down beside the bubbling pot on the stove and heading for the front door to open it before Mischa was forced to either knock or ring the doorbell—or, heaven forbid, simply walk inside.

As it turned out, that first bout of laughter didn’t help much. Pulling open the door, Daniel got his first good look and burst out laughing again. Head to toe, Mischa was covered in sticky, slimy, thick black mud, looking nothing more like he was auditioning for a horror movie, or maybe trying to court a mudskipper. He was also dripping all over the front stoop and there was a clear trail down the sidewalk showing how much he’d shed on the way back home. Mischa glowered as he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his giggles. “If you’re friggin’ finished, asshole,” he finally bit out.

“Sorry, sorry.” It took him another minute before he found himself sufficiently composed, but a grin still lingered about the edges of his mouth as he asked, “So, I take it the thing wasn’t too happy? What was it, a heleionomae?”

“Actually, no.” Somewhat mollified, Mischa ran a hand through his sodden brown hair, then grimaced at the resultant additional coating of filth on his palm. “We were both wrong about this one.”

“Oh?” Amusement momentarily took a backseat to curiosity and Daniel perked up. “Then what was it? Something new?”

“Not exactly.” With another moue of distaste, Mischa gave up on trying to wipe any part of himself off and simply stood in the middle of his puddle. “That had to be the craziest frickin’ genius loci I’ve ever run into.”

Daniel blinked. “Are you serious?”

Mischa shook a fist at him, mud crawling down his upraised arm. “Do I look like I’m in a kidding mood, Matier?” he growled. “Yes, it was a goddamned genius loci—there used to be a well there, or so it told me after I finally got it to stop shoving swamp down my pants and fucking talk to me for two seconds. I think it went off what was serving it as its head when its well was torn down. Either that or whoever used that well in its heyday was equally off his rocker. ADD bitch,” he added under his breath, and Daniel was forced to hide his smile again. Not successfully enough, as Mischa twitched and made as if to fling some of the mud at him.

“Sorry, I’ll stop.” He raised his hands half in acquiescence, half in possible defense, still grinning, then stopped and eyed him for a moment. The mud was beginning to dry in rough, cracking patches all over the other. “That can’t be comfortable. C’mon—I’ve got dinner on and you’re probably going to need all of the time until it’s ready to get clean.”

Still glowering at him, Mischa took at step forward toward the door, before stopping in the face of Daniel’s still upraised hands. Mischa stared at them, then him, blankly.

“No way,” Daniel said firmly. “Use the hose out back first.”

For a moment, incomprehension held sway on the other’s features, before the light dawned and he scowled. “Oh fuck you. I’ve had enough of freezing water today.”

“And I don’t feel like cleaning the carpets after you drag half the swamp across them.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “Priss. Fine, fine.”

Daniel felt a breath of displaced air on his face, blinked, and Mischa was gone from the stoop, ripples already stilling in the puddle he’d left behind. He turned around to look at the front hall; in contrast to the trail leading down the sidewalk, there was not a single splat of mud on the floor that he could see.

There was something cool on his face. He raised a hand to his cheek, wiped it away, then regarded the single taunting fleck of mud on his fingers with a sigh and a rueful smile. Closing the front door, he could already hear the shower running.