Excerpt:

Story 1:

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. Mischa’s coating was beginning to dry in rough, cracking patches. “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, like a kiss, 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 anywhere 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.

=====

As he’d predicted, by the time Mischa emerged from the bathroom, still dripping though no longer with mud and marsh, Daniel was just scooping out the second bowl of steaming long-grained rice. He stuck his wet, tousled head around the doorjamb, sniffing inquisitively and casting a hopeful gaze at the pot on the stove.

“What’s that?”

Moving the pot off of the heat, Daniel ladled some of the contents over the first bowl of rice. “Stew.”

Mischa’s eyes lit up. “Is it—?”

“What else? Payday was yesterday.”

“Yes!” Mischa whooped, disappearing back into the hall. “I love you, man!”

Daniel snorted. “You mean you love my employee discount. And my cooking.”

“That too!” Mischa agreed cheerfully. It seemed that the prospect of a favorite food was enough to bring his mood up a tick, as his footsteps were heard pattering eagerly in the direction of the bedroom. Chuckling to himself at the other’s suddenly energetic demeanor, Daniel returned to serving out the food. A sudden realization made him pause.

...huh. That is the last of the rice, isn’t it? He regarded the multihued grains thoughtfully; he hadn’t realized that they were just about out, or otherwise he’d have picked some up with the rest of the groceries the day before.

It really was too bad. He much preferred handpicked rice over the rock- hard processed type, but this was the last of the wild stuff and it was unlikely that they’d be able to find much more at this time in the year; it was rare enough in the area and the obliging family who’d shown him the location of the last patch had vacated their home plot sometime before his visit the week prior.

Oh well. It was good while it lasted. A smile creased his features. And it’ll make Mischa happy. I’m sure he’s spent enough time in the swamp today to be more disparaging than usual about eating anything that came out of it.

Which reminded him of something. “Hey,” he directed at the kitchen door, “Where’d you leave your wet clothes?”

“Tub,” was the yelled reply. “I promise I’ll get to them later. Is that to your satisfaction, Miss Priss, or do you require me to scrub out the bathtub as well?”

Daniel sniffed haughtily, grinning to himself. “It’ll do, I suppose. Just this once, mind you.”

An amused “feh” sounded from the bedroom, followed by the sound of the closet door opening—Really have to oil those hinges one of these days—then, “Oh, yeah, I passed by the Soul Oak while I was slogging back home.”

“Yeah?” Daniel called back. “Did the old man fall out of his branches laughing when he saw you or no?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Mischa’s voice emerged slightly muffled; Daniel guessed that he was pulling on a shirt. “No, actually, he wasn’t there.”

“He wasn’t? Huh.” The cantankerous spirit of Glenaby Wood’s oldest tree was almost never found a far distance from his heartwood. “You figure he bedded down for the winter already?”

There was a bit of a delay in response as Mischa shuffled back into the kitchen, still damp but in a clean, worn pair of sweatpants and a threadbare t- shirt. His skeptical expression showed clearly what his opinion was of that possibility. “You serious? It’s not even the middle of October, man, are you kidding?”

“Yeah, but it’s been freezing cold for like a week and a half now,” Daniel pointed out. “It might have been enough to get him to turn in early. We’ve seen it happen before.”

“Yeah, with two- year old twiglets who can barely survive out of a hothouse, not overgrown arboreal monsters that’re nearly a hundred and fifty years old,” Mischa scoffed in return. Daniel shrugged.

“First time for everything, y’know.”

“Are you crazy?” Shaking his head in disbelief, Mischa reached over his shoulder to snag a cup out of the cabinet. “Remember two weeks ago? A little cold snap isn’t going to bother any old man who can take out an idiot with only an acorn.”

In spite of himself, Daniel had to snicker at the memory. They’d found the guy out cold at the base of the Soul Oak, a bruise rapidly darkening his forehead where the acorn had been shot at him with the force of a heavyweight boxer. Daniel suspected that it was the impact of head against tree root which had blown out the kid’s lights as opposed to the acorn itself, but the effect was the same, and anyway, he’d had it coming; there was still bark coating the tip of the blade he’d dropped when he’d fallen unconscious. Mischa was right to dub him an idiot.

Actually, Mischa had called him much more than simply an idiot before they finally managed to revive the kid, chortling the entire time while Daniel glared at him and the spirit of the Soul Oak muttered dire imprecations under his breath in a rustle of drying leaves.

Mischa grinned at his amusement, before moving to the fridge to pull out a half-empty carton of orange juice. “You happen to see that idiot around lately, by the way?”

“No, but I hope he’s learned his lesson about carving into hapless trees.”

“Hapless, my ass.” Mischa sounded more amused than insistent. He poured himself some juice, then poked him in the shoulder. “Not everything is as harmless as you make it out to be.”

“I know he isn’t harmless.” Daniel poked him back, earning a swat at his hands before Mischa drained the cup. “Still, I want to drop by tomorrow,” he continued. “I haven’t had the time to talk with him for awhile, and if he hasn’t gone into hibernation yet, he will soon.”

That earned him rolled eyes and a dismissive snort. “What you see in that guy, I still have no idea. Besides his admittedly spectacular aim.”

“Yes, Mischa.” Mischa swatted at him again with a mock-glare, this time for the over- exaggerated patience he was affecting. Daniel nudged him back before continuing, “He’s a cranky, stubborn pain in the ass who tried to string you up by your ankles once. I’ve heard this spiel before.” Then he flashed a grin at him. “Of course, I also seem to recall that you nearly put your hand through his tree the first time we met...”

He shifted his weight to avoid the next swat as Mischa made noises like an affronted cat. “I told you, that wasn’t my fault! He surprised me.”

“Be that as it may, hell of a way to get off on the wrong foot there. Or maybe wrong root, in his case.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like being surprised.” Daniel knew. Boy howdy, he knew. He also knew why, beyond it simply being in Mischa’s nature.

Silence for a moment, reflective, before Mischa padded over to stand behind him. He’d abandoned the cup somewhere; it was nowhere in his hands as he draped his arms over his shoulders, pressing his cool cheek against Daniel’s and leaning into him. One long-fingered hand came up to sketch an idle circle over his heart, the motion casual as opposed to sensual. There was also a question in the gesture. Daniel patted that hand.

“I’m fine. It’s been better than usual today, actually. No flare-ups or anything.”

“Good.” Mischa then pulled backwards enough to press his nose into the nape of Daniel’s neck, causing him to shiver as the other’s cool breath wafted over the fine hairs there. Again, in spite of the intimacy of their positions, the gesture was casual, almost matter-of-fact. A spot check.

Daniel tolerated this for another moment, before gently shrugging his arms off. “Dinner’s ready.”

Mischa agreeably abandoned his position at his back and wandered over to their well-used and much-battered dining room table as Daniel dug out utensils and brought over the bowls of food. He placed one in front of Mischa, whose eager expression died after he took his first bite. Daniel watched him poke through the bowl with his fork as he slid into his own seat across from him; Mischa looked up at him and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought you said you made stew?”

“I did. What’s the matter with it?”

“This.” He pulled a face of distaste, poking at the rice beneath with his spoon. “More marsh food.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, kicked him lightly in the ankle. “Let me revise that for you, then: I made stew with rice. And don’t worry; this is the last of it. I couldn’t find any more when I went looking last week.”

“What, your little pixie friends weren’t falling over their sparkly little boots to help you that time?”

“They’re not pixies,” he said automatically. “And they’re not mine,” he added as an afterthought. Mischa snorted. “And no. They weren’t there when I went to see them either. Though in their case, the cold probably was enough to drive them off.”

“Feh.” Mischa fastidiously fished a chunk of meat out of his bowl and bit into it with more enthusiasm. For his part, it tasted like rabbit to Daniel; he had never noticed a difference between this and the regular kind of lapin, or even between this and regular venison, but Mischa always insisted that this tasted much, much better. Well, he would know.

They lapsed into silence as they ate, Mischa avoiding the rice for as long as he could before reluctantly swallowing it under Daniel’s level eye. As per the usual, Mischa finished first, carrying his dishes over the sink to begin washing up. Daniel joined him a moment later, stowing the rest of the stew in the fridge.

Which reminds me. “The rest of it’s in here,” Daniel said, closing the door. “Mark said he saved it just for you. Had to fight off a customer’s hound for it.”

Abandoning the dishes, Mischa had already pounced the fridge and was ass- up in it, eagerly digging for the Tupperware container wherein Daniel had stored the rest. “How nice of him. Remind me to not scare his cat the next time.”

“It was a boghound.”

“The next two times, then.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

“And I promise not to eat his cat, either.”

Daniel snorted in amusement. “That’s mighty generous of you,” he said dryly. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I’ll try, anyway. It’s very tempting—ah-ha!” Apparently he’d located the container. “You’ve seen it,” he continued as he extracted himself from the fridge with his prize in hand. “It has to weigh at least twenty pounds. Some of the turkeys you buy aren’t that big.”

“I’m pretty sure Mark keeps her on a diet of dire rats. That can’t be tasty.” Mischa ignored him in favor of peeling the top off of the container. “Don’t leave the antlers in the sink this time, huh? One got caught in the food disposal last time. Remember?”

If he did, Mischa didn’t care at the moment; he had already devoured a heart and was now cracking open one of the tiny jackalope bones in his teeth with an expression of bliss painted across his face, reaching for a multipronged antler sticking out of the container of offal with his free hand. Conversation was probably going to be a lost cause for awhile. With a sigh and a smile, Daniel turned for the door to start working on his homework.

Enthusiastic crunching noises followed him out of the kitchen.