Malcolm frowned at him but did not seemingly have a good argument for that point.
Thank God Libba hadn’t said anything else.
“You might get it,” he finally allowed, swallowing a big gulp from his mug, his voice stilted and awkward. “You’d be fine at it. You’d do well.”
“Thank you,” said Jasper, just as awkward.
The two blinked at one another for a moment, silence sitting between them, until they mutually cleared their throats and looked off in opposite directions.
“Say,” said Jasper, squinting out the window at the line of buildings in the distance. “Did you know that Aphrodite actress in Lib’s troupe is a French nun?”
“You don’t bloody say!” Malcolm exclaimed, his tone back to normal.
And finally, the air diffused back to its appropriate temperature and density.
“And a bit of a sticky fingers, from what I understand,” Jasper added with a chuckle, leaning to the side to peek around Malcolm’s shoulder. “Where is your sister, anyhow? She’s certainly up and about already if she’s been whispering my private doings in your ear.”
Mal glanced behind himself toward the arch of the hallway and shrugged. “Devil if I know. Oh, morning, Ruby.”
“Yes, good morning,” said Ruby, strutting distractedly into the parlor with one of her glass beakers in her white-knuckled grip, swirling around an amber liquid inside with a look of intense discontent on her face. “I’ve tried again. If you don’t like it this time, I shall chuck it and myself into the sea.”
“New cologne?” Jasper said, leaning forward to sniff the air, which smelled entirely the same at this distance. “Again?”
“Again!” Ruby agreed with a note of marked annoyance. “Sir Refinement here needs to evolve every year or so or he isn’t content. Isn’t that right, Malevolence?”
“’Tis,” he replied in an exaggerated clip, lifting a single eyebrow. “They’re always similar, though.”
She made a noise, thrusting the beaker out. “Yes. I’ve retained the juniper, poppyseed, and honey on an ambergris base, but I’ve swapped the fennel for gardenia and added a new core note. Can you guess?”
“Let me!” Jasper said. “I never get perfumes from Miss Little.”
She frowned at him as he set his coffee aside and bounded to his feet, scurrying forward. “You’ve never asked for one,” she muttered, watching him bend forward and sniff at the concoction. “Do you want one?”
He frowned, turning his head to sniff the normal air again and then turning to sniff the cologne once more. “I… can’t… quite…” he muttered, doing this ritual three more times.
“Oh, for godssake,” Mal muttered.
“It smells like brown bread smothered in fancy jam,” Jasper finally decided, straightening. “Wheat? Hops?”
Ruby, who lived in a persistent state of disenchanted haughtiness, actually allowed a flicker of what looked like happiness to pass over her catlike features. “Rye!” she said softly. “It is rye! Do you like it?”
“Who cares if he likes it?” Mal said, standing and striding over. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Perception is key.”
“Do poppyseeds have much of a scent?” Jasper asked, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”
“It’s faint,” she said, handing the beaker over to Mal, “and a bit nutty, but to tell you the truth, I mostly like the swirling effect it creates in the finalized concoction. It is pretty.”
“It’s good,” Mal decided, dipping his finger into the beaker and dabbing a bit of the liquid at his wrist. “It smells expensive.”
“Ah, well, that’s the most important thing,” Jasper said flatly.
“Do you want a cologne, Mr. Townsend?” Ruby pressed, stepping closer to him. “Something with almond, perhaps?”
He glanced at her warily. “Perhaps. How much would it cost me?”
She smiled at that, a brilliant, beautiful smile that immediately lit the beacons of danger in Jasper’s mind. “The first one is free.”
