Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 30

Advent Calendar - Day 12

Good morning! Meg Perry is back this morning with a sweet little bit of holiday crossover.

Are you enjoying this year's Advent Calendar? Please take a minute or two to let our contributors know you appreciate their efforts. :-)


An Enchanted Evening
The AIDS Project Los Angeles Holiday Gala was in full swing at the Getty Museum. Tuxedo-clad waiters circled the room incessantly, offering champagne and hors d’oeuvres. In one corner, a quartet laid a soundtrack of smooth jazz under the buzz of conversation. The men shone in their tuxes; the women sparkled in their finery. From all indicators, the fundraiser was a smashing success.Jason West was miserable.His – boyfriend? No. Significant other? Maybe. He had trouble identifying exactly what to call Sam Kennedy – was supposed to have been here this weekend. But crime had no soul. It didn’t give a shit what Jason wanted. Sam had to work through the weekend, and their plans had been postponed.Jason’s disappointment had morphed into dismay when his sister Sophie had called last night, less than an hour after his conversation with Sam. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”“Why?”“Clark was called back to Washington for an emergency vote.” Sophie’s husband was a U.S. Congressman, one of the few remaining Republican representatives from California. “I need an escort to the APLA Gala.”“No.”“Why not?”“I don’t want to.” “Not good enough. Is that guy in town?”That guy. “No. He’s stuck in Washington, too.”“And your intention is to sit at home all weekend and mope? Not on my watch.”Jason spluttered. “Your watch?”Sophie laughed. “Yes, tomorrow is my day to watch you. Come on, Jason. There’ll be plenty of food and drink, and I’ll introduce you to people who want to talk about art.”Jason sighed. He knew that she’d continue to browbeat him until he conceded. “Okay, fine. But you’re driving so I can drink.”So, here they were. Sophie had introduced him to several people who indeed did want to talk about art – specifically, what hung on their own walls. Or, more commonly, what sat in climate-controlled warehouses within the Foreign Trade Zone at Long Beach, avoiding taxes.Why buy art if you didn’t care to enjoy it? The practice was beyond Jason’s understanding.He snagged another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and took a long drink. Sophie glanced over his shoulder at something then did a double take, a slight frown on her face. “That’s odd.”Jason asked, even though he didn’t care. “What?”“Melanie Hayes is over there, with a woman who is not her wife.”
“Who’s Melanie Hayes?”“She’s a partner in Anderson and Hayes, the first gay law firm in Los Angeles. I’m surprised you don’t know of them.”Jason shrugged, still not caring. Sophie said, “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”“But…”Sophie took him firmly by the elbow and turned him 180 degrees. He stopped, momentarily forgetting his misery. Even as a gay man, he was impressed. “Wow.”Both women were simply stunning. One was of medium height, with long, curly dark hair and alabaster skin. She was wearing a backless red dress, accented with a multicolored opal necklace.The other woman was tall, as tall as Jason in her heels, and slightly tanned, with dark hair in a bun, dark-framed glasses that gave her the look of a sexy librarian, and a little black dress that looked as if it had been poured onto her. The dress was low-cut, but her upper chest was nearly covered by a multi-stone turquoise necklace.A line from a Don Henley song flitted into Jason’s mind. “Don’t you know that women are the only works of art?” He disagreed but wondered to himself if Henley had these two in mind when he wrote the song.The women turned as Jason and Sophie approached. The curly-haired one smiled. “Sophie! How are you?”“Fine, thanks.” The women exchanged air kisses, then Sophie waved her hand at the crowd. “Another smashing success, I think.”“Absolutely. Did you see Neil and Mark? They’re here somewhere.”“Not yet. I’ll find them eventually.” Sophie turned to the other woman, who’d been studying Sophie and Jason with interest. Jason quelled the impulse to check that his fingernails were clean. “Hello. I’m Sophie Vincent. This is my brother, Jason West.”“Kristen Beach.” The woman shook hands with both of them; Jason was surprised at the power of her grip. “I’m subbing for Ali tonight.”Sophie’s expression was pure innocence, as if she hadn’t been wondering at all. Jason glanced at Kristen; her expression of faint amusement told him that Sophie wasn’t fooling her. Melanie said to Jason, “My wife, Ali Fortner, is a landscape architect. She just won an enormous contract that’s a rush job and had to meet with the client this evening.”Sophie said, “Ah. That’s too bad.”Melanie laughed. “Not for Ali. She hates these things. Fortunately, Kristen’s hubby had to work tonight, too, so I dragged her along.”Kristen said, “It wasn’t a hard sell. APLA is one of our favorite charities.”Sophie asked, “What does your husband do?”Jason winced at the vaguely sexist question. Kristen, however, was cool enough to not bat an eye. “He’s an LAPD homicide detective.” Sophie stared at Kristen. “Really.”“Yep.” Kristen raised an eyebrow at Jason. “And you’re some sort of law enforcement, too, right? You have the look.”Jason smiled. “You got me. FBI Art Crime Team.”Kristen whistled. “No shit, a Fed? And art crime? I bet that’s fascinating.”“It can be.”“Do you know Donna Aguilar? She was Gil Hickok’s partner with the LAPD Art Theft Detail before it was disbanded.”This Kristen Beach was full of surprises. “Yes. Of course. How do you know Donna?”“Long story.”Sophie and Melanie had been watching the exchange. Melanie was hiding a smile; Sophie was staring in disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak, just as a female voice from behind her said, “Sophie, hello! Are you enjoying yourself?”Sophie spun. “Oh, yes. The organizing committee has outdone themselves again…” She and the other woman dove into conversation.Kristen leaned closer to Jason. “Special Agent West, you look like you’d rather be boiled in oil than spend another minute here. Why don’t we go find some real food and drink?”“Oh. Um, that’s tempting, but Sophie is my ride.”Melanie said, “We’ll take you home.”“Are you sure? I mean, we just met.”Kristen delivered a friendly thump to his shoulder – fortunately, his good shoulder. “You’re a cop. That means you’re family. Come on.”

They ended up in Venice, not far from his bungalow, at a club called El Caribe. The place was packed, but the maître d’ greeted both women by name, eyed Jason with open interest, and immediately showed them to a table. They ordered drinks and a huge platter of appetizers. Jason was tickled to see that both women fell on the food like hungry wolves. He wiped his fingers after downing a tomato basil bruschetta and asked, “How do you know Donna Aguilar?”Kristen swiped a spring roll through a puddle of duck sauce. “I’m a librarian at UCLA. We had a theft of a rare cello score from the music library a few years ago. Donna was the lead investigator on the case.”Melanie – who went by Mel – said, “I can’t believe they disbanded the unit.”Jason agreed. “Neither can I.”Kristen asked, “Has it increased your workload?”“Not a lot. We already cooperated with LAPD on most of their cases. But over time it will.” The hunky male server, who was extremely attentive, appeared at Kristen’s shoulder. “Ready for refills on those drinks?”Jason drained his beer and tipped his glass at the server. “You bet.”Mel said, “No, thanks, I’m driving.”Kristen said, “Bring it on.”“Yes, ma’am.” The server winked at Jason and strolled away, ensuring that Jason had plenty of opportunity to admire his assets.Kristen noted the expression on Jason’s face and grinned. “You must not be single.”“No. I mean, not exactly. It’s complicated.”“Isn’t it always?” Kristen propped her chin on her fist. “Tell Auntie Kristen all about it.”Jason wouldn’t typically bare his soul to a near-stranger, but he’d ingested just enough alcohol to lower his inhibitions. He poured out his entire history with Sam, from the first time he laid eyes on him in New England to their conversation about living together. He concluded with, “I don’t know what to do. I love Sam. He says he loves me. But I feel like he made the offer solely because of my job situation, and he basically admitted that. So…”Mel asked, “When will you know about the job?”“No idea. I’m on administrative leave, and the powers that be keep putting me off.”Kristen said, “My advice? Do it. Move to Virginia. Life is short. You should grab happiness when you can.”Jason gazed into the depths of his beer. “But what if it goes bad?”“Then you cry, scream, shake your fist at the gods. And keep living in spite of it.”Jason eyed her. “Sounds like you have some experience in that realm.”“Yup. I was lucky. I got a second chance.” Kristen rested her hand on his shoulder. “All we have is love, Jason. And where there is love, there is life.”“Shakespeare?”“Gandhi.”He snorted. “Seriously?”Kristen grinned. “Trust me. I’m a librarian.”

It wasn’t much longer before Kristen and Mel both received I’m home texts from their spouses. Jason offered to walk the few blocks to his home, but Mel wouldn’t hear of it. When they pulled up to the curb in front of his house Jason said, “Thank you. This evening has turned out a lot better than I expected.”Kristen twisted from the passenger seat and smiled at him. “Stay in touch, Special Agent West. My email is on the UCLA Libraries website.”“I will.” Jason reached for the door handle...and stopped when his porch light turned on. “Um. That shouldn’t happen.” His front door opened, and a familiar shape filled the doorway. Jason sucked in a breath. “Sam.”Mel said, “Hey! Merry Christmas to you!”“Absolutely!” Jason scrambled from the back seat, then turned and waved as the women drove away.Sam met him on the front porch. “That wasn’t Sophie’s car.”“Nope. I ditched Sophie hours ago.”Sam flashed a grin. “Good man.”“Why are you here? I mean, how are you here?”“I don’t practice the art of delegation nearly enough. Today, I did.” Sam smiled at him. “You’re drunk.”Jason poked him playfully in the chest. “That’s my profiler. Never misses a beat.”Sam laughed and took his arm. “Come on. I intend to take full advantage of your condition.”

Advent Calendar Day 11

Oh! It's already the 11th???!! The month is flying past.

Is your holiday shopping done? MINE IS. I don't mean to gloat, but as of forty-five minutes ago, MINE IS.

This morning, we have another vintage cartoon. This one is 1935's The Cookie Carnival. Actually, maybe it's not specifically holiday related, but...gingerbread.

That gingerbread man has impeccable taste, I must say. Not exactly sure that relationship is destined for the long haul. THERE'S AN M/M ROMANCE IN HERE SOMEWHERE, MARK MY WORDS. ;-)

Advent Calendar Day 10

Ten days into December!!?? This month is FLYING.

This morning we have more fiction--this coda for The Darkling Thrush was written by reader-friend Brenda (if you're in my Patreon group or my Goodreads group, you know Brenda, so say hi!)  It's her first time contributing to the calendar, and I'm so thrilled to have her!

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‘Tis the Season
Septimus Marx, Magister in association with the Societas Magicke, London bureau, was having a crisis.  It had been 4 months since he’d  almost had to murder his lover to protect humanity, and he hadn’t thought anything could ever be more difficult than that, and truthfully, this wasn’tanything like that, but still… the next few hours were likely going to change his life to a similar extent.  And he was terrified.
To all outward appearances though, no one looking at the smartly dressed man walking briskly down St. Markland Street deftly dodging last minute Christmas shoppers, would have known that his insides were in a roiling turmoil.
Snow was beginning to fall, and the sidewalks were starting to become slick, and Marx hoped that Colin would be careful on his way home.
Home.
Their home.
He had a proposition for Colin. One he hoped would appeal to Colin’s keen sense of adventure, but also give them an opportunity to test a true partnership between them.  Marx tried diligently to reign in his excitement at the prospect - with only middling success - since there were no assurances here that Colin would see the same potential that Marx did.
And if Colin did accept his proposal, it would come with a significant professional cost for Colin. If he took the path Marx was finally ready to offer, it would be almost impossible for him to go back to the more traditional - and more lucrative - side of the Societas’s advancement track. 
Things had worked out astonishingly well for them after the debacle in Scotland.  Colin had needed care after his run in with Basil and the surgery he underwent to remove the bullet from his shoulder, and it had seemed natural to everyone that Colin should stay with Marx during his convalescence. 

They were colleagues, after all.  They had just been through a harrowing ordeal together, successfully mind you, and Marx had ample room, as well as much coveted privacy, in the rooms he occupied not far from Leslie’s Lexicons. 
It had been a point of contention between them, however, that Marx had wanted to keep their personal relationship private, particularly from those at work.  But Marx knew his reputation, and he didn’t want Colin judged by anything other than his own merits, especially after how that business with Antony had impacted him.
Antony had taken over for Basil. It had been done quietly; they had made no official pronouncement, just made an unofficial explanation that Basil had resigned and relocated to the colonies, and that his duties would transition to Antony.  The rumor was that he’d met someone, it was a common enough occurrence, and no one disabused anyone of that idea.
Once Colin had returned to work, he had flourished. The new lessons he qualified for were challenging him and he even made friends among his fellow librivenators.  And Marx believed that they had only scratched the surface of what Colin would be capable of with more training and experience.
But therein lies the problem, Marx thought, as he sharply turned the key to his flat and strode into the front hall.  He had ideas himself about what he wanted, from Colin and for himself, but would Colin still be happy with what Marx could offer once the world began to open up for him, as Marx knew it eventually would?  He would soon find out.
***
Marx set about laying out a light luncheon for when Colin returned. Marx knew he was working with Magister Clemens today, and the two of them often forgot to eat. Fiona purred at his feet, periodically rubbing her head against his trouser leg to remind him she had performed her duties admirably today and that she deserved a treat. He tossed a bit of ham to her and she delicately picked up her prize and headed off.
Eventually he followed her to the parlour, meaning to check how the weather was progressing, but he found her intently staring at something outside.   He settled on the sofa behind her, peering over her shoulder and finally picked out what had captured her attention.  A thrush sat on the stair railing leading to their stoop, making a lovely picture as it sang its tune, framed by the flurry of snowflakes falling around it. 
Marx picked up Fiona and brought her close, scratching her favorite spot behind her ear, “It’s alright my love, they’re just keeping an eye on us.”
She rubbed under his chin in return and leaped off his lap, heading upstairs no doubt to settle in for the evening in the middle of their bed.
The snow continued to fall. It didn’t seem to be sticking yet, but by the look of the sky it was only a matter of time. It appeared they would indeed have a white Christmas and Marx smiled to himself as he knew how much that would delight Colin.  As if conjured by Marx’s thought, Colin appeared at the corner and made his way to their home.  By the time he came through the door, Marx was there to meet him and Colin smiled brightly in greeting as he dumped his overcoat and scarf on the hall chair.
“You won’t believe what happened,” Colin cheeks were flushed with excitement as they often were when he spent time with Clemens. They were two of a kind.
“I have news as well, “Marx said as he absently picked up Colin’s coat and hung it on the coat stand so it would dry, “and something to ask you, but tell me your news first.”
“Antony offered me the sponsorship for the position in Constantinople!”
Marx froze. That was… unsettling. Marx stood there, his body suddenly rigid, but Colin didn’t seem to notice.
Colin squeezed his arm then headed down the hall toward the kitchen, calling behind him as he went, “I must eat first though, before I tell you. I’m famished.”
“Yes, of course,” Marx replied automatically, moving stiffly down the hall after him. “There’s luncheon set out in the kitchen. Come join me in the sitting room when you’re ready, I laid a fire when I came home, so it should be warm in there now.” 
Normally he was quite adept at reassessing his strategy on the fly when unforeseen things occurred. Normally he was extremely good at it, but apparently not in this instance.
Antony’s offer was… not entirely surprising. After Colin had published his article on his experience looking for the Faileas a’ Chlaidheimh, he had received quite a bit of celebrity and acclaim, even though significant parts of his adventures were changed or omitted.  They had decided that it was best that he publish something, or Irania Briggs might begin to wonder why he didn’t, and the article was also a way of further obscuring what they had eventually done with The Sword’s Shadow.
The position Antony was offering was a prestigious one, and one that would set Colin on a very fast track to promotion. There was no doubt in Marx’s mind that Colin would be an ideal candidate.  But it would mean an end to their current arrangement.
As much as the idea hurt, Marx did not in the least begrudge Colin the success he deserved. But Marx had become accustomed to having Colin’s things strewn about his house. In fact he’d been quite surprised at how easy it had been to accommodate Colin’s presence in his previously solitary life. But Marx knew he had no talent for wooing the way that Antony did, he could only be honest which didn’t always serve him very well with his peers.
“What were you going to ask me?” Colin’s appearance at the doorway startled Marx.
“Oh, it can wait.” Colin came to sit next to him on the couch, the flickering light from the fire brought out the red highlights in his hair, but Marx curbed the urge to touch him.
“No tell me, you were excited when I came in.” Colin’s voice was soft, encouraging.  And also stubborn. They had learned a lot about each other over the last several months, and Marx knew Colin would wheedle it out of him eventually anyway.   But uncertainty was still singing in his ear.  “Well, it turns out I had a proposition for you as well.”
Colin raised an eyebrow, waiting, but not so patiently now.
“Alyssa called me into her office this morning.  Apparently that Unseelie encyclopedia has popped up again and this time the potential danger is much greater. The Seelie Court would very much appreciate the Societas finding it and dealing with the issue.  And,” Marx kept his eyes downcast, it might be cowardly, but he didn’t want to watch Colin’s expressive face, if he was going to turn him down outright, “So I was given leave to ask for your assistance in the matter, since your talents would be an enormous help in this endeavor.  You wouldn’t have to decide right away, of course.  I’d need to explain the ramifications to you, both professionally and personally, and especially in light of Antony’s offer, you’ll need to take time to consider… mmmhhhfff.” 
Marx’s carefully chosen words were interrupted by suddenly acquiring a lap full of fairly vibrating senior level librivenator, who appeared to be trying to eat him alive.  Marx raised his hands to Colin’s head, threading his fingers through the mass of unruly curls, urging him to gentle the kiss. 
Eventually, they both needed to breathe.
As Colin leaned back, he narrowed his eyes, “You bloody fool.  You weren’t going to tell me about what Alyssa said after I told you of Antony’s offer, were you.”  It was a statement rather than a question.
Marx felt guilt pinch his expression, “Your news did… give me pause.   Antony is offering you a tremendous opportunity.”
“What am I going to do with you?”  Colin sighed and climbed off Marx’s lap to sit next to him on the couch, pulling off his wet shoes and nestling in close.  “I know we haven’t had an opportunity to talk much, especially lately with the increase in my studies, but… you have become very important to me. So important in fact, that I can’t even seem to entertain the idea of not having you in my life.  I was flattered by Antony’s offer, but I never considered it for a moment.  Because I’d been hoping I could convince you that we should work together.  That’s partly what Magister Clemens and I have been working on, figuring out how you and I can both use our talents to collaborate.  What you do is vitally important, and I want to help you, but more than that… I love you.” Colin paused, maybe to try and gauge Marx’s reaction, but all Marx could do was stare.
A hint of steel crept into Colin’s voice, “I understand the ramifications of working with the Vox Pessimires, and I understand the ramifications of Antony’s offer. He feels guilty, he’s trying to make amends in his way, but I don’t want it. It’s not what’s important to me.  I choose you. And I will choose you every time.  But I want people to know that I am yours and you are mine.”  The intensity with which Colin spoke staggered Marx. 
“I want that too,” Marx said quietly. “I just… needed to make sure that you had a chance to be just yourself for a while, to the others.  So you could see how things could be and make an informed choice.”
Colin turned his whole body on the couch to face Marx, “There is no choice at all for me.  If these last few months have shown me anything, it’s that our place is together, and I have a very strong feeling,” Colin looked meaningfully into Marx’s eyes, no doubt seeking to remind him of what Colin’s occult test scores had revealed about his Talent, “that it always will be.”  Colin leaned in again, this time the kiss was slow and deep, and when Colin had drank his fill of him leaving Marx a bit dazed, Colin pulled him close and spoke softly into his ear, “So, Magister Marx, I accept your proposal. I am at your disposal, is that agreeable to you?”
Marx smiled, he was completely under Colin’s spell now, and he was willingly enthralled, “It is very agreeable, yes.”
With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, Colin sat back and pronounced, “Alright then.” 
But Marx could tell there was something else on his mine and he nudged Colin’s shoulder, “Okay, now it’s my turn… spill.  You have something else on your mind, what is it?”
“Well, now that that’s settled, I know we agreed not to exchange gifts and really, this is more of a professional tool that might come in handy on our upcoming travels, but…” Colin suddenly seemed to deflate a little becoming uncharacteristically shy.  Marx waited and eventually, Colin retrieved a small, flat box from his coat pocket, “I have something for you.”
Marx took the parcel from Colin’s hand and immediately felt the pulse of Old Magicke in his fingertips.  Intrigued, he undid the thin twine and lifted the lid. Nestled in delicate cotton wool was a beautiful amulet, vibrant green in color and a design that was very clearly fey in origin. 
“Where did you find this?” Marx took it from the box and rolled it between his fingers. It was warm to the touch, it felt alive. And if he concentrated even a little he could feel… connections, threads... that he could follow.  He looked at Colin quizzically, realizing he hadn’t answered his question.
Colin hesitated a bit longer then said, “Well, it’s a funny story really.  I was looking for protection amulets, something that would… help keep you safe.” He cleared his throat before he continued. Marx was fascinated; especially after the confidence he had shown just moments ago, he had rarely seen Colin at a loss for words.  Finally he continued, “And as I was looking, your, um, faery lady friend approached me and, we spoke for a bit. She knew what I was after and told me of a place. This is… there is more to it.  She said you would understand and we can talk about it later, but I wanted to give it to you tonight.”
That last words had come out all in a rush and Marx beamed, he hoped what he felt was apparent in his eyes, because he knew exactly what Colin meant about there being more to it. And he truly didn’t mind that the fey had taken an interest in them again, that’s what family did after all.
The artifact was a sort of protective talisman, but there was a great deal else it could do.  It allowed a link to form between the giver and the receiver.  And it could be especially powerful between two whose magus resonated as symbiotically as theirs did.
“Thank you Colin, this is extraordinary.” This time it was Marx’s turn to lean in, deciding to only lightly brush his lips against Colin’s, because he now had his own admission to make.
Slipping the gold chain around his neck and tucking the amulet under his shirt, Marx reached beneath the pillow behind him and drew out a small package of his own, “I did also forgo my own advice and I got you something as well.” Marx felt his stomach tighten, but especially after the gift that Colin had chosen for him, it felt right and it was something from his heart, so he handed the package over to Colin without regret.

Colin tore the wrapping with enthusiasm, and looked at the book in his hands, turning it this way and that. Marx knew what he would see.  A beautifully bound new volume of poems - Marx knew quite a few very talented book binders - freshly pressed with only a single word title on the first page, but no evidence of an author’s name.
“Is this a puzzle?”  Colin’s eyes twinkled with interest.
“Of a sort”, Marx tried to smile reassuringly, but he couldn’t be certain how well he pulled it off, or who exactly he was trying to reassure.
“Beloved”, Colin whispered the title to himself, clutched the book to his chest and closed his eyes.  Marx watched as his brows slowly rose in wonder, “You wrote these poems…”
“Yes.”
“… About me.”
“Yes.”
“And you know I can…”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t mind…?”
“No.”
Colin took an unsteady breath, reached out and pulled Marx into a tight embrace, guiding Marx down on top of him as they stretched out beside each other on the couch.  Marx felt Colin tremble and pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin below his ear.  Colin wiggled underneath him, maneuvering to intertwine their limbs. Eventually they were linked together almost as one.
Marx wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, just holding each other.  It could have been moments or it could have been hours. The fire still crackled cheerily when they finally sat up and settled back into the cushions, shoulders pressed tightly against each other, but he would definitely need to add another log soon. 
“So… where do we begin our search for this wayward tome of yours?” Colin’s voice was still thick with emotion.
“Egypt.”
Colin turned to him sharply, eyes widened into an expression Marx could only describe as mischievous glee.  Oh yes, this was going to be quite the adventure indeed. 

Advent Calendar Day 9

What better way to start off a cold December Monday than with a bit of fresh fiction from the ever-witty Haldis.

Regular viewers will recall that back in 2017, Haldis wrote Mr. Pinkerton and The Christmas Cake wherein Fraser Fortune and Drew Lawson from Mummy Dearest (which I accidentally deleted from my site???) request an interview with Miss Butterwith and Mr. Pinkerton.

Well, here is that interview.   (At this point, I think Haldis has written more about Mr. Pinkerton than I have!) :-D :-D :-D

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 Mr. Pinkerton and the Interview


Mr. Pinkerton had an itch. It was right below his left ear. He tried an ear flick. No, it didn’t help. He lifted his hind foot and twisted to give a good scratch, and the man across from him leaned forward.
               Mr. Pinkerton froze.
               The man Froze.
               The man, Mr. Pinkerton had been introduced to him the previous evening at the bookstore’s annual Christmas party, was named Fraser Fortune. He had requested an interview with, in his words, a ‘crime solving cat and a botanist’ for his mysterious show. He had been sitting here, across from Mr. Pinkerton for nearly half an hour and he had yet to ask a single question. Mr. Pinkerton was beginning to think that Fraser Fortune had actually just wanted an interview with the botanist.
However, Miss Butterwith was busy organizing the evening’s festivity of wassailing. And Mr. Pinkerton was quite capable of giving an interview. He was perfectly capable of paying attention and answering questions.
               Mr. Pinkerton twisted and scratched the annoying itch, and then faced forward again to continue his staring match with Fraser Fortune.
               There was a small glass ornament sitting on the table next to Mr. Pinkerton. He wondered if he could just reach his paw out and just nudge…. 

               “Hey,” said another man, Fraser Fortune’s partner, Drew, as he came to sit down next to Fraser Fortune. “I told you you didn’t need to wait for me to start the interview.”
               Fraser Fortune turned to Drew and hissed, “He’s a cat.”
               “Uh, yeah,” answered Drew. “But he’s a ‘crime solving cat’. What’s more mysterious than that?”
               “I would much prefer a talking cat”, muttered Fraser Fortune. “I thought we would be interviewing the botanist.”
               “Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton, indignantly. How could this man sit across from him and say he was not worth interviewing? And that he didn’t talk. Of course he didn’t talk; Fraser Fortune had yet to ask him any questions!
               “I think you insulted him,” said Drew.
               “He’s. A. Cat.” Fraser Fortune hissed, again.
               Mr. Pinkerton stood up, turned around, and sat down again, his back to Fraser Fortune. It seemed a good time to groom. Mr. Pinkerton licked his paw and then rubbed it behind his ear, down his cheek, and then licked the paw again.
               “Yep,” Drew said, laughing. “You definitely insulted him.”
               “Fine. You do it then,” Fraser Fortune grumbled.
               ‘Um, ok?” Drew cleared his throat and then raised his voice. “Thank you so much for meeting with us, Mr. Pinkerton.”
               Mr. Pinkerton turned around to face Drew. He seemed like a nice man.
               “Meow,” greeted Mr. Pinkerton.
               “So, uh, Mr. Pinkerton, how did you and Miss Butterwith get started assisting the police in solving crimes.
               Ah, thought Mr. Pinkerton, their first case. It was a very exciting time that introduced Inspector Appleby to their acquaintance. It started out as a job, but quickly evolved to a long and lasting friendship.
               “Meow, meow, brreow, mew.” Mr. Pinkertons began his tale. He started kneading his paws as he got more into his story. He told of gorgonzola, cat nip, tiny fish, and finally finding the man who grew the gorgonzola.
               A gruff laugh sounded behind Mr. Pinkerton. Inspector Appleby was standing, practically bent double from laughter. He straightened up, wiping a tear from his eye.
               Mr. Pinkerton glared at Inspector Appleby.

               “I’m sorry, Mr. Pinkerton,” said Inspector Appleby. “I do love listening to you tell that story.” He turned to Fraser Fortune and Drew. “He means gongora, not gorgonzola. It’s an orchid. Also, there were no tiny fish. It was microfiche. Mr. Pinkerton tends to think in terms of what he finds important. Like cheese, and fish, and catnip. And Mr. Pinkerton, you got that catnip mouse at the village fete. It didn’t have anything to do with the case.”
               Mr. Pinkerton was inclined to disagree with that as Mr. Pinkerton found that catnip mouse to be very important. Especially during the boring parts of the case.
               Fraser Fortune and Drew were now staring at Inspector Appleby as if he had just sprouted whiskers. Cat whiskers, not that fuzzy caterpillar that currently lived above Inspector Appleby’s upper lip. But then Fraser Fortune seemed to rally and stood up to face Inspector Appleby.
               “Good evening, Inspector Appleby,” greeted Fraser Fortune, flashing what he probably believed was a killer grin. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’m wondering if you could elaborate on what Mr. Pinkerton just reported?”
               Inspector Appleby rocked back on his heels and gave Fraser Fortune a rather assessing look. He offered a grin of his own.
               “You didn’t understand a word he said, did you? No, you didn’t.” Inspector Appleby laughed again.
               “No, I mean, yes, it was just….” Started Fraser Fortune.
               “His dialect,” finished Drew. He was grinning. He seemed to be enjoying his flustered partner.
               “What are you laughing at?” Fraser Fortune grumbled at Drew. “You didn’t understand him, either.
               “I readily admit to not speaking cat,” laughed Drew. “Now if it was antient Egyptian cat….”
               “Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton.
               Drew’s jaw dropped.
               “Well, there you have it,” stated Inspector Appleby.
               “What?” demanded Fraser Fortune, looking between Inspector Appleby, Mr. Pinkerton, and Drew. “What did he say?” He asked his partner.
               Before Drew had a chance to answer, Geoffrey came up behind Inspector Appleby. “We’re about ready to go. Did you ask Drew and Fraser if they wanted to join us? We’re going wassailing,” he added for Fraser Fortune and Drew.
               “Meow,” said Mr. Pinkerton.
               “Well of course you’re coming, Mr. Pinkerton. Up you go.”
               Mr. Pinkerton jumped up and settled on Geoffrey’s shoulders.
               Drew looked at Fraser Fortune, who shrugged. “Might be fun. We’d love to join you.”                As they headed for the door, Mr. Pinkerton heard Fraser Fortune whisper to Drew, “What did he say?”
               “Uh, well, taking into account the accent, and the question about pronunciation, and….”
               “What did he say?” Fraser Fortune repeated.

               “Such is the curse of Amon-Ra, king of all gods,” answered Drew. Then he laughed. “Apparently Mr. Pinkerton enjoys the same old movie I do.”
               Fraser Fortune grinned back at his partner and snorted, “Cats!”
               Exactly, thought Mr. Pinkerton.                                            

Christmas Coda 55

“That’s a seriously serious expression.” I said.
This was our second waking. Round about seven we’d made love, talked, and eventually drifted back to sleep. It had been a hell of a week. But good things come to he who waits.
The best things, sometimes.
I added, “Especially for a guy with confetti in his hair.”
Jake, who had been staring, unblinking, at the slanted bedroom ceiling, turned his head on the pillow and studied me. His mouth quirked. “I’m a serious guy.”
“You are. True.”
“You’re a pretty serious guy yourself.”
“Mm. I have my moments.” I scooted over so I could wrap my arm around him, could rest my head on his chest. You wouldn’t think hard muscle and sinewy planes would make a comfortable pillow, but in fact, it was the best pillow on the planet.
My movement gusted warm, pajama-clad male scent from beneath the sheet and blankets. Scout rose with a reproachful look and shook himself before resettling next to my shins. I closed my eyes and listened to the calm, steady thump of Jake’s heart beneath my ear.
“Everything okay?” I murmured.
“Yeah.” His breath ghosted against my face as he said, “Just running over my list of New Year’s resolutions.”
“Are there a lot of them?”
“Not so many.”
“That’s interesting. I never thought of you as a New Year’s Resolutions kind of guy.”
“Oh hell yeah,” he said on a sigh that sounded surprisingly weary. “I was always big on resolutions.”My eyes popped open, I raised my head, started to ask, but he preempted me. “What about you? Are you a New Year’s Resolutions kind of guy?”
“I didn’t used to be, no.” That was the truth. I had always figured resolutions were for people who could plan on a nice long—anyway, the bad old days, and no point looking back when there actually was so much road ahead.
Even so, I hadn’t even considered making a New Year’s Resolution. I had made promises to Jake, of course. Promises to take time off, promises to take Scout to obedience training, promises to be a better boyfriend—er, fiancé, now. That kind of thing. Not really the same. Not what Jake was talking about.
Or rather, what Jake didn’t want to talk about.
“I think we should elope,” I said, and I wasn’t kidding.

“Oh no,” he said at once--and vehemently. “No way. No. Way.”
“What? Why not? You already did the big Catholic wedding thing and I sure as hell don’t want to go through—”
“Absolutely not.”
I sat up—to the disgust of both Scout and Tomkins, who had been curled atop the snowy bank of pillows behind our heads. “Wait a minute,” I said mildly. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
Jake sat up too. Our knees brushing beneath the blankets as we faced each other. “You get a say in every other part. In fact, you get final say on everything. Except this.” A muscle tugged at the corner of his mouth. He reached over to pick a crinkled thread of blue and red and white paper from my hair. Jake’s nephews, Cody and—oops, no, Cory and Rory—had been firing those party poppers at us as we’d said our goodnights. Possibly channeling some of the family undercurrents?
“Yeah, but this is kind of the big decision.”
“That’s right, and your mother already made it.”
“My…!” I snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my mother.”
“Of course, I’m afraid of your mother. Any sane man would be afraid of your mother.” His tawny gaze held mine. “But that’s not the only reason. Or the main reason.”
“Uh huh. So what’s the main reason?”
He drew a long, controlled breath. “It’s not about—for me, it’s not about the social occasion or our families or the eyes of the law or any of that.”
We weren’t kidding around anymore, but then we probably hadn’t been to start with.
I said quietly, “I know that.”
“But it’s important to me and I believe it’s important to youfor me to be able—willing, willing with all my heart—to stand beside you and pledge before…man and God and, yes, your mother, to love and honor and…cherish you every day of our lives.”
I blinked back the sudden, silly tears. “It’s not a test. You don’t have to prove—”
He cut me off with a low, “I know that. I know you’re not asking and possibly don’t even want it if it comes with a bow tie, but I think it’s important for us and for the kind of marriage we want. Am I wrong?”
My face did that quivery thing that happens when you’re trying not to show you’re close to crying. I shook my head, leaned into him, whispered, “You’re not wrong.”
He bent his head, kissed the tears leaking out beneath my eyelashes.
We held each other for what felt like a long time.   

Advent Calendar Day 7

Last year we did a little creative exercise while giving away two copies of the print coda collection All I Want for Christmas and, seeing that it yielded such great results, we're going to do it again. TODAY.

Here's how it works. Write the first paragraph for a potential holiday coda with your favorite Josh Lanyon couple. That's it. It can be silly, sad, serious, sexy...whatever you choose! Just have fun with it. Even if you don't go on to write a whole coda, I think you'll be surprised at how entertaining it can be to lose yourself in that made up world for a little while.

And if you DO write a whole coda--and want to share it next year--well, I know just the place! ;-)

I'll  randomly  choose two authors from the coda beginnings to receive a copy of All I Want for Christmas. If you're new to the Advent Calendar and my holiday codas, it's actually a very cool collection of all my codas thru 2016--along with recipes for food and drink that tie-in with the codas. It's a nice little book!


And just to help get the creative juices flowing, here are a few photos that you can use as prompts. Or not!

OUR WINNERS SO FAR...

Well, we only have one giveaway and that is for the Buche de Noel which goes to...

Kathleen L. Charles!(I don't know why that didn't show before!)

Kathleen, I need your ship to address ASAP -- contact me through Facebook or my website.

Holy moly. SO MANY DELISH-LOOKING RECIPES!!!!

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED!

Advent Calendar Day 6

Well, you boys and girls must have been very good last year because we already have more fiction for your reading enjoyment. :-)

This is another very clever (IMHO) piece from Sarah Atkinson. You may recall that last year we did a little creative exercise wherein some of you were brave enough to write the first paragraphs of what could potentially be (no pressure of course!) codas for this year's calendar. And one of the resulting codas was "Playing the Part."

So we're going to do that exercise again tomorrow (put your thinking caps on, lick those nibs!) and today we're going to enjoy the fruits of last year's labors.

=======================================


Playing the Part
To calm his nerves, Lukas went over the lines of dialogue in his head but he couldn’t stay focused: his eyes were drawn to the movie posters hanging on the wall while his right foot jiggled up and down in time with the jaunty Christmas tune floating along the corridor from the reception area. He desperately wanted the part. He loved – no, he adored – the books.  He kept the fifth in the series by his bed, its last chapter read and re-read countless times. He couldn’t bear the idea of seeing someone else in the role; he knew the detective-turned-PI inside and out - the good, the bad and the ugly sides of him. The part, however, depended upon the on-screen chemistry with the actor who was to play opposite him.
Footsteps.  As he raised his head, he caught a glimpse, through the glass partition, of a slight, dark-haired figure. There was something familiar about the way the man carried himself. His breath seemed to still as his heart began to beat a faster rhythm. The door swung wide and Ezra Clark was ushered into the room. Judging by the look on his face, Ezra was as staggered to see him as he was to see Ezra. Lukas’ first thought was that there was no one more perfect to play Adrien. His second was to remember the off-screen chemistry  - or was it biology - they once shared.
He rose as Ezra came forward. There was an awkward hug and then, as neither quite let go, a second one that felt strong, warm and so very dear.  It had been two years since they had seen each other, two years since they had last spoken.  Two years without any communication except for the single card Ezra sent to let him know he’d reached England. The words revealed little: ‘Arrived safely. Ez x’. The picture said a great deal more. He knew Ezra had chosen it thinking of him. It was a reproduction of ‘The Thames by Moonlight with Southwark Bridge’ by Atkinson Grimshaw.  He had kept it, placing it gently between the pages of The Dark Tide.  Sometimes Lukas found himself opening the book just to run his fingers lightly, longingly over the name and the small x on the back of the card.
Filial duty and love had kept Ezra tied to England while Lukas had been tied to LA by a recurring role in a television series. He’d been killed off a month ago; it had been a pretty painless process.
There was no chance to say anything post-hug as they were swiftly taken down to a small studio where the director and casting director greeted them.  
They each did a few short scenes alone. Lukas watched mesmerised as Ezra performed. Then it was his turn to deliver a few solo lines – Adrien with an e. Uh Huh. Finally, they stood opposite each other, in front of the camera.
“Shit. I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what? Kiss me?”
Lukas shook his head.
“My mouthwash isn’t working? What’s the problem?”
Lukas attempted to laugh (a scripted attempt).
“Why, Jake?”
“I open my eyes and I see the pores of your skin – your skin’s okay, don’t take this the wrong – but you’ve got five o’clock shadow. You smell like aftershave. Your lips –   It’s just – you’re not a chick.”
“You noticed,” said Ezra.
Lukas had noticed alright on Takes One, Two and Three – he could hardly miss those lips. He wouldn’t have hesitated with Ezra where Jake had with Adrien.
After a few technical adjustments, they changed positions before the next short scene.  Inhaling deeply, Lukas prepared himself to deliver Jake’s words . . .
“I’ve got this theory that Inspector Bull and Mr. Pinkerton are closeted gays.” Ezra delivered Adrien’s line with a faint smile.
“See, that’s the kind of queer thinking I despise. According to the fags everybody who’s anybody was really homosexual.  You name it. Michelangelo, Alexander Hamilton, Errol Flynn, Walt Whitman. It’s pathetic.” A pause. Lukas delivered the next line in a harder tone – the twisted words echoing those of the bigots he despised. “You’re just kidding yourself if you believe being a fag is common or normal or some lifestyle choice.”  Oh, Jake. Oh, Jake.
“I don’t think it’s a choice. It isn’t for me.”
There was little time to change gear again before shooting the last scene, which was taken from The Dark Tide.
OR IS IT????Ezra began, plunging them deep into the scene. His performance of a man wracked in grief was so extraordinary that Lukas no longer knew whom he was talking to as he leaned his cheek against the cheek of the man who had once meant so much to him, before delivering his last line.
“Don’t. Don’t baby. I want to tell you something.  I’ve always been grateful… that it was you I fell in love with.”
Later they left the studio together, heading out into the street, where fairy lights danced among the branches of the trees.
Lukas broke the silence, “When did you get back?”
“Just two days ago. I’ve little to tie me to London now Mum’s gone and her estate is sorted. I contacted my agent over here. She told me about the part. I couldn’t miss the chance to try.”  He stopped and then began again a little awkwardly, “I hope… I just hope we both…”
“Me too,” replied Lukas, his thoughts wandering and wondering as they continued down the sidewalk.  Shoppers armed with bags and store windows draped in tinsel brought him back to the present.   He knew there would be other parts but he wasn’t so sure there would be other men. He stopped Ezra with a light touch to his arm, “So, what are you doing for Christmas?”
“Christmas? I hadn’t thought.”
“You should come over. I’m still in the same place. “ He paused and then, in remembrance of good times past, added, “It’ll just be Pete and me.”
Ezra gaped at him. Then swallowing visibly, responded in a stiff manner, “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Pete won’t mind. He’s very sociable.”
Silence.
“In fact, he’s somewhat over-friendly, at times.”
A look that fell somewhere between confused and horrified.
“He likes to jump on people, get his paws on them and lick them.”
“Oh, you bastard,” grinned Ezra. “You got a dog.”
Perhaps it was the last scene they’d played in the studio that then gave Lukas the courage to speak from his heart, his voice cracking a little, “I couldn’t find anyone to replace you, you see.”
After wrapping his arms around Lukas, Ezra replied softly, “It was the same for me: nobody, because they just weren’t you.”
Finally, they drew apart and Lukas said, “So, Christmas?”
“Christmas it is.”

Advent Calendar Day 5

In 2017 I started the tradition of giving away a Buche de Noel, and I think I'll do it again this year, but earlier since the stores tend to sell out quickly.

Did I hear you ask What is a Buche de Noel? It's an edible Yule Log, that's what. :-)





  Th e bûche de Noël is a French holiday favorite, inspired by the giant yule logs that were traditionally burned on Christmas Eve. The bakers at the small, family-owned We Take the Cake bakery have handcrafted this one with their best-selling chocolate génoise cake, rolled with rich coffee buttercream and finished with chocolate cream cheese frosting "bark." Whimsical berry-laden fondant holly leaves and crisp meringue/marzipan mushrooms add festive flourish.

They are quite delish, I assure you. And a very nice change from pie.
So today's giveaway--limited to readers in the US, unfortunately--is a Buche de Noel from Williams and Sonoma. It's always tricky pulling this one off, so be sure to check back this weekend to see if you've won because we have very few days to get the order in!

To be eligible for this particular giveaway you must live in the US and you must contribute your very favorite holiday recipe in the comment section below.  I'll be choosing the winner tomorrow morning, so don't put off contributing your recipe in the comment section!

Advent Calendar Day 4

Today we have a little vintage holiday cartoon that I don't believe I've shared before. This is the 1940s horror classic (well, kinda!) The Snow Man. It's only about eight minutes long, so relax and enjoy before you get to work!



THAT WILL TEACH YOU MEDDLING KIDS TO BUILD SNOWMEN!!!