Hellsinger 01 - Fish and Ghosts (P) (MM) by Rhys Ford Page B

dragons—during the Chinese New Year parade.”
    “Well, not like it’s any more crazy than you’re seeing ghosts.” Wolf shrugged, then winced when Tristan punched his arm.
    “I’m not crazy,” the man muttered under his breath. “You watch. I’m warning you. They’ll be here.”
    “Just like you’ve warned me about this ball?” Wolf pulled the small toy out of his pocket. “Tell you what. I’m going to throw it someplace you won’t be able to find it in the dark. If it somehow comes back to me before morning, I might believe in your ghosts.”
    “Everything has strings for you, don’t they, Kincaid?” Tristan’s smile was a sad pull on his pretty face. “Throw it. Jack’ll bring it back to you, and then you’ll never get rid of him.”
    “Jack?”
    “Yeah, the dog. He’s been here for as long as I’ve been around.” Another shrug but this time, the man’s smile was nearly smug. “He’s the only spectral dog I’ve ever seen here at the Grange. Horses, yeah, and a giraffe once, but they disappear with the guests. Oh, and there was a camel. Uncle Mortimer says he saw a couple of Tasmanian tigers, but I think he was pulling my leg. Jack’s the only one who stays.”
    “And you know his name?” Wolf tested the ball’s weight in his hand. It was hefty enough to take a good toss, and he scanned the gardens, wondering if his arm was good enough. It’d been years since he’d played ball, and the occasional pickup hoops game wasn’t the same thing as tossing in something from outfield. “The dog. Not the camel. Or the giraffe. Does he talk? Or did you just hear it in your head?”
    “It’s just what I call him, asshole. Not like he’s got a collar and a tag. I think he’s a Jack Russell terrier. They call them something else now, I think. Parsons something or other. But I’m not changing his name now. He knows it. I think.”
    “You are a beautiful but strange young man, Tristan Pryce.”
    “So some people say.” Tristan’s eyes followed the ball as it arced through the air. It landed with a small splash in one of the smaller man-made ponds pooling in the garden’s more informal walks. “Well, the strange part. Don’t think anyone’s ever called me beautiful.”
    “Well, there’s no coming back from that one. And yeah, you’re beautiful. Someone should have told you that sooner. Maybe you’d be out in the real world instead of living here with your imaginary friends,” Wolf said before draining his coffee cup. “Don’t go wading in there now.”
    “Wasn’t planning on it. The water’s too cold.” Tristan leaned forward again, staring back out into the gardens. The stone balustrades were spaced wide enough for him to lodge a knee in between them but not much more. Wolf set his cup down on the patio floor and turned so he was up against Tristan’s side. The man eyed him but didn’t pull away. “What?”
    “You’re like Sleeping Beauty in this place. Waiting for a prince to climb the roses and battle the dragon to set you free?”
    “I don’t think there was a dragon in the original story.” Tristan smirked. “And you’ve seen my studio. I’d sooner have the dragon than the prince. Besides, there’s no such thing as a Prince Charming.”
    “And here I thought I was the cynic.”
    He wanted just a small taste. The man’s mouth had haunted Wolf’s mind since the first time he’d seen Tristan staring at him from across the Grange’s reception desk. His hands itched to be buried in the man’s unruly golden-tinted mane. It was a good length to be wrapped around his fingers so he could pull Tristan’s mouth closer to him.
    Which was exactly what Wolf Kincaid did.
    The angle was awkward, but Wolf didn’t care. His palms were cupped around Tristan’s high cheekbones, and his mouth tasted of the man himself.
    He was right about Tristan’s hair. The strands were soft, silken, and long as they slid through Wolf’s fingers, but they were nothing compared to the