Milo followed him to place his mug next to the box. For a few minutes, they enjoyed the beverage and pastries in peaceful silence. Almost absent-mindedly, Milo gave Quirion half of his secondSemla, something he did automatically every time they shared a meal. Just like Quirion always chose the best pieces for him and made sure he ate at all. His human tended to forget to take care of himself.
“Ah. Alma’s chocolate is almost better than Sammy’s.” Milo winked at Quirion. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“Never. Otherwise, he’d be back here to research more recipes on the making of hot chocolate just to prove you wrong. I’m just glad it was Barion who had to go to the Mayan temple with him.” Quirion shuddered at the memory of Sammy tearing through his section of books on food—no ordinary cookbooks, those had their own place farther down the aisle, but the books on historic ways of cooking, ancient tomes about the power of certain foods—in search of the oldest recipe for hot chocolate he could find. The outcome was admittedly amazing, Sammy’sskills with chocolate were not of this world, but Quirion would have preferred if he and his books hadn’t been part of the journey to get to this level.
“Yeah. He can get tunnel vision sometimes.” Milo downed the rest of hisvarm choclatand stepped back from the table, slowly dragging his hands through the spell barrier to get them cleaned. Quirion followed suit and they both returned to the task of writing a suitably impressive yet not too snotty response to the SBW’s letter.
Milo took a normal piece of paper and the ballpen he still had in the pocket of his jeans and started chewing on the end. “What’s the best way to start?Dear Sir or Madamseems a bit generic, don’t you think?”
Quirion nodded. “It is. Plus, you do know that you’re writing to aMadam.” Again, Quirion had far better words to describe Beverly Nyx, Madam being not even in the top hundred of that list. Harpy was one of the first to come to mind, though it wasn’t entirely fair to real Harpies, who were actually kind of nice if you got past the razor-sharp talons and their tendency to kill first, ask questions never. Beverly Nyx, on the other hand, couldn’t be called nice even if the positive meaning of the word were stretched so thin it met evil on the other side.
“Then I start withDear Madam?” Milo interrupted Quirion’s musings about the abhorrent nature of Beverly Nyx.
“Well… How aboutEsteemed Lady? She’s going to gobble that right up.”
Milo scribbled the words down and eyed them with a thoughtful expression. “I’m not sure. Don’t you think they have researched me? She would know that’s not how I usually talk—or write.”
“She would indeed. But she would see the effort you’re making to match her letter.”
“Or she would think I’m trying to either make fun of her or be condescending.”
Quirion rubbed his hands gleefully. Milo was getting into the swing of things. There were few things Quirion loved better than navigating the deep waters and high cliffs of written correspondence in all its backhanded and dagger-wielding glory. The fun one could have with a few politely placed words, turning them into a deadly insult! It was a game of wits and knowledge with the added pleasure of using high-quality paper and wax seals.
“Quirion?”
“Ah, sorry, Milo, I was lost in thought.”
Milo stared at him from narrowed eyes. “You were plotting a written war, weren’t you?”
Quirion opened his mouth to deny it, but Milo interrupted him. “You were. I know the signs. You had the same look you get when you think of a particularly viciously polite phrase to send to Sammy. It’s actually the same lookhegets when he finds a response he knows will weigh you down with its sheer kindness. That’snotwhat we’re trying to do here. I need that money, Quirion.” Despite his stern tone, a smile was playing around Milo’s lips.
“I know. I know. You’re taking the fun out of this.” Quirion couldn’t help but grumble.
“I’m so sorry.” Milo was trying to hide his laughter, Quirion could hear it in his voice. “Just see this as some kind of basic training, perhaps? Something to remind you of the roots?”
“I outgrew basic trainingcenturiesago, young man, thank you very much,” Quirion replied haughtily. “And I don’t need to be reminded of roots of any sort.” He huffed. “But I do see the necessity of foregoing any double layers in this particular letter. It has the sole purpose of getting you on the road into the pockets of SBW to benefit from their endless depths.”
Milo arched an eyebrow. “That would be nice, yes,” he said dryly. “And how do I go about this?”
Quirion read the letter again. It was devoid of double layers because Beverly clearly knew there was no reason hoping to find a worthy opponent in somebody so young. He wassooootempted to show her up, but what if she found out it was him helping Milo? Would she then kick Milo out simply for knowing Quirion? He and the other members of SBW hadn’t parted on the best of terms, though not in open hostility either. The overall mood had been volatile politeness, drenched in animosity with a side of suppressed anger. If Beverly held on to grudges only half as happily as he did, there was no telling how she would react. Better to keep the ball close to the net and play the long game.
“I thinkDear Madame Nyxis perfect. You create a certain nearness without making undue advances and, at the same time, you show your attention to detail such as reading the letter to the end.”
Milo nodded. With a look of concentration, he started scribbling on the paper he had before him. Which brought Quirion’s attention to another, way more pressing matter than Beverly Nyx’s potentially bad mood when she found out Milo was acquainted to Quirion. Only how to phrase this particular concern without hurting Milo’s feelings?
“Uhm, Milo, you know how much I appreciate all your help? And how dear you have become to me?”
Milo looked up from his writing. “Quirion, just spit it out. I know you’re trying to be polite, but we talked about this. Building up to something isn’t your strong side and you never do it. Don’t start now to spare my feelings. What am I doing wrong?”
Quirion hesitated. In all honesty, he wasn’t just fond of Milo, or thought him dear to his heart. Those feelings had become too small to describe what he felt for the young man long ago. He’donly started to allow himself to recognize them after Milo had left twenty behind, to not feel like an old creep, which he still essentially was, him having a few centuries on him. But the same was true for Dre and Sammy, Barion and Jon and even more so for his father and the two werewolves. Strictly speaking, his father was the worst cradle-robber, if one looked purely at the numbers. Milo loved numbers. No, he couldn’t lie to the object of his secret desires. But he also couldn’t hit him with the naked truth. That would be cruel.
“Uhm, I was just thinking… How about we ask Sammy to write the letter we’re composing? He has the experience, while you…” He couldn’t come up with something non-offensive to say. Flattery was completely out of the question at this point.
Milo looked from the few words he had written to Quirion then back to the words. His brows did that little wiggling thing indicating he was thinking hard. “Is this your way of telling me my handwriting sucks? Because you don’t have to try and be polite about it. I know this.”
Inwardly, Quirion sighed in relief. Out loud, he said, “It doesn’t suck. It’s just very…modern. Not what Beverly, the old bat, is used to. I think she stopped changing her ways of thinking sometime around 1400.”
“Oh.” Milo scrunched his nose up. “I knew she had to be old, but somehow, I still pictured her as some middle-aged woman. Now all I can see is a grandmother.”
