bolder.”
“Vampyre?” Shane asked, bemused. That’s what the glass tube said, sweartagod.
Mikhail waved him off. “No—it is dry and dusty. And dead. You are very much alive.”
“I’m also very confused.”
“Here—cedar wood. This smells like you.” Mikhail held up the wand and Shane took a delicate sniff.
“If you say so.”
“I’m embarrassed,” Mikhail said suddenly and grabbed Shane’s wrist, swabbing a little bit of oil on it and then replacing the glass wand in its vial. He pulled one from a vial marked “chamomile” and swabbed it along the same patch of skin, then held Shane’s wrist to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes slightly.
“That’s it.” He looked up at the shop proprietor, an older woman with her hair up in a costume hair net and a rather serene expression.
“Two vials—the clear kind. Three parts cedar, one part chamomile. No, no,” this to Shane who was pulling out his wallet, “this is my purchase.” Making Promises
Shane raised his eyebrows but kept to the subject. “Didja lose your pants in public?”
The reluctance with which Mikhail faintly lifted his sulky mouth made his smile that much prettier. “I am embarrassed because he is an ass, and because I have slept with him, and because he doesn’t deserve to breathe your air. Are you satisfied now? Should we put on make-up now and hug?”
Shane’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and he blinked. “Apparently we’re sticking to perfume,” he said after a moment, when the proprietor had handed Mikhail the two plain vials of scented oil on leather cords. Mikhail handed one to Shane.
“It smells like you. It smells better on you. Now put it over your head and wear it, dammit, and let’s go see the horses.” Shane complied and looked at Kimmy as Mikhail grabbed his hand.
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged and caught up with them as he was dragged through the dusty, thronging crowd.
The jousting area was set up in its own cul de sac away from the food and the vendors. There were temporary stalls set up with the horses at rest and the name of the stables emblazoned on a carved wooden sign attached to the front of every pipe-constructed stall. Shane approached the horses and laughed a little.
“They’re smaller than I thought they’d be,” he said to Kimmy, who agreed. She’d been the one to get riding lessons when they were younger.
“They’re stockier,” she said thoughtfully. “More like ponies but a little taller.”
“The ones in the ring are bigger,” Mikhail said, nodding toward the jousting ring. There were stands on one side complete with tarps overhead to keep out the sun and what looked to be a royal family seated in the center getting ready to watch the spectacle. “They have to be bred sturdy to hold the big men wearing the metal, but they have to be bred sweet-tempered….”
“Because that’s a whole lot of freak-out for a skittish horse,” Shane agreed, looking at the crowd and the men with weapons and all of the things that Deacon and Crick would have said were dangerous to have around a horse in the first place. “Deacon’s horse, Shooting Star, would have killed someone by now.”
Mikhail shuddered. “I don’t see how they do it,” he confessed. He was standing a good five feet behind Shane and Kimmy as they stood near the stall, checking out the animals. “They are already too big.”
“I’ll have to introduce you to Angel Marie,” Shane said with a laugh.
The horse near him looked like she was going to eat his fingers as they hung on the metal bar above her head so he reclaimed them and moved away. Together, the three of them started wandering toward the stands on the far side. They were early—maybe they could claim a seat out of the sun, which was pretty damned relentless at three in the afternoon.
“Angel Marie?” Kimmy asked, laughing, and Shane shrugged.
“I’ve got, like, six dogs—he’s the biggest.”
“You named a boy dog ‘Angel
“Vampyre?” Shane asked, bemused. That’s what the glass tube said, sweartagod.
Mikhail waved him off. “No—it is dry and dusty. And dead. You are very much alive.”
“I’m also very confused.”
“Here—cedar wood. This smells like you.” Mikhail held up the wand and Shane took a delicate sniff.
“If you say so.”
“I’m embarrassed,” Mikhail said suddenly and grabbed Shane’s wrist, swabbing a little bit of oil on it and then replacing the glass wand in its vial. He pulled one from a vial marked “chamomile” and swabbed it along the same patch of skin, then held Shane’s wrist to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes slightly.
“That’s it.” He looked up at the shop proprietor, an older woman with her hair up in a costume hair net and a rather serene expression.
“Two vials—the clear kind. Three parts cedar, one part chamomile. No, no,” this to Shane who was pulling out his wallet, “this is my purchase.” Making Promises
Shane raised his eyebrows but kept to the subject. “Didja lose your pants in public?”
The reluctance with which Mikhail faintly lifted his sulky mouth made his smile that much prettier. “I am embarrassed because he is an ass, and because I have slept with him, and because he doesn’t deserve to breathe your air. Are you satisfied now? Should we put on make-up now and hug?”
Shane’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and he blinked. “Apparently we’re sticking to perfume,” he said after a moment, when the proprietor had handed Mikhail the two plain vials of scented oil on leather cords. Mikhail handed one to Shane.
“It smells like you. It smells better on you. Now put it over your head and wear it, dammit, and let’s go see the horses.” Shane complied and looked at Kimmy as Mikhail grabbed his hand.
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged and caught up with them as he was dragged through the dusty, thronging crowd.
The jousting area was set up in its own cul de sac away from the food and the vendors. There were temporary stalls set up with the horses at rest and the name of the stables emblazoned on a carved wooden sign attached to the front of every pipe-constructed stall. Shane approached the horses and laughed a little.
“They’re smaller than I thought they’d be,” he said to Kimmy, who agreed. She’d been the one to get riding lessons when they were younger.
“They’re stockier,” she said thoughtfully. “More like ponies but a little taller.”
“The ones in the ring are bigger,” Mikhail said, nodding toward the jousting ring. There were stands on one side complete with tarps overhead to keep out the sun and what looked to be a royal family seated in the center getting ready to watch the spectacle. “They have to be bred sturdy to hold the big men wearing the metal, but they have to be bred sweet-tempered….”
“Because that’s a whole lot of freak-out for a skittish horse,” Shane agreed, looking at the crowd and the men with weapons and all of the things that Deacon and Crick would have said were dangerous to have around a horse in the first place. “Deacon’s horse, Shooting Star, would have killed someone by now.”
Mikhail shuddered. “I don’t see how they do it,” he confessed. He was standing a good five feet behind Shane and Kimmy as they stood near the stall, checking out the animals. “They are already too big.”
“I’ll have to introduce you to Angel Marie,” Shane said with a laugh.
The horse near him looked like she was going to eat his fingers as they hung on the metal bar above her head so he reclaimed them and moved away. Together, the three of them started wandering toward the stands on the far side. They were early—maybe they could claim a seat out of the sun, which was pretty damned relentless at three in the afternoon.
“Angel Marie?” Kimmy asked, laughing, and Shane shrugged.
“I’ve got, like, six dogs—he’s the biggest.”
“You named a boy dog ‘Angel
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