“You’re going to miss that one day,” Errante said mildly.
Tsui gave that big, genial grin again. “Not today, though.”
He turned on his heel and fished the battered treats from the hot oil. They were dropped into cardboard holders, and he wiped his greasy hands on his apron before he picked up the squeezy bottles of rich golden sauce. He squeezed both bottles at once, covering the battered squares in a sluice of sticky liquid, and then smacked them back down.
“Here you go,” he said, picking up the trays and turning around. “Grandma’s Fried Milk with Sauce. That’s twenty-five bucks.”
They both waited. Ledger pulled his wallet out and handed over thirty.
“Keep the change,” he said as he took both sweets.
“Kewl,” Tsui drawled as he tucked the money into the cash box. “Enjoy.”
He turned away to flash that grin at the next customer. Ledger looked down at the double serving of sticky, battered whatever-fried-milk-was and then glanced at Errante.
“Was one of these for you?” he asked.
“No, I thought your friend might like one,” Errante said. He gave a slight, antique bow—the sort that made you think he’d grown up with them, not just picked it up as an affectation—then straightened up. “Enjoy the carnival, Mr. Conroy. I hope you find what you need, not just what you’re looking for.”
He filched a chocolate-covered wafer off Tsui’s cart as he turned and walked away. Ledger frowned after him until a long arm in a leather sleeve reached over his shoulder and grabbed one of the trays.
“That was weird,” Wren said. At least he’d gotten Ledger’s text, then. Hopefully that meant Hark had too.
Wren left his arm slung over Ledger’s shoulder, grease-stained tray gripped loosely in one hand while he picked up the fried milk with the other. “Do you know him?”
That was the smell. The gap in Ledger’s head resolved as Wren wafted the sticky toffee-covered fried dessert under his nose.
Fried milk in salted caramel sauce. That was what the carnival was. It still didn’t make anysense, but he could live with that. Maybe the whole place had been blessed right out of Hell at some point—or the other way around—but Ledger didn’t need to know. It felt like understanding it was only going to be the start of his problems.
“We’re not married,” Ledger quipped, mirroring Wren’s sour mood of the night before back at him. He glanced around as he talked. “I don’t have to— What the fuck?”
Ledger pulled away from under Wren’s arm and turned around. He reached out to touch Wren’s face and then stalled inches from the skin, not sure if it would hurt more than it would help. The whole side of Wren’s face was bruised and gashed, lips swollen and skin mottled like rotten food with reds and purples. One of his all-black eyes was visibly swimming with a wash of blood, the lid puffed and clots of blood caught in the eyelashes.
“What?” Wren asked as he took a bite of the sweet in his hand. He paused mid-bite and screwed his face up. “Huh. I thought that was going to be sausage.”
“Your face?” Ledger said. He gingerly touched the split skin on Wren’s cheekbone, a few freckles still visible under the bruises. “What happened?”
Wren swallowed what was in his mouth and ran his tongue over his teeth. He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you care?”
It was a good question.
“I don’t,” Ledger said. He gingerly touched Wren’s cheekbone. “Does it hurt?”
Wren snorted. “Yeah.” He held up what was left of the fried milk, custardy innards oozing out of the cracked batter shell. “And this is disgusting. Too sweet.”
He dropped it in on top of Ledger’s while he balled the grease-stained tray up to toss into the nearest bin.
Ledger pulled him away from the food cart. “What happened?”
Something cold and hard shuttered Wren’s all-black eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“Obviously, I lied,” Ledger said.
Wren stared at him for a moment, his face set in an uncompromising mask. Then he smiled, cracking the scab on his lip, and leaned in suddenly for a kiss. His mouth tasted of blood, nutmeg, and custard. Ledger sighed as he leaned into it, his hand cradled against the side of Wren’s bruise-hot face. Meanwhile, Wren’s hands slid down his back and cupped his ass to pull him closer.
