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breaking on a grunt, his hips bucking spasmodically and triggering Will’s release. Plumes of cream arced over Fan’s midsection and plopped gracelessly onto the low, tight ripples of muscle. Will could barely remain upright. The sensation coursing through him was tidal in its ebb and flow.
    Drained of strength, he collapsed onto Fan’s broad chest, and Fan’s arms immediately twined around his back.
    “Now we truly need that bath,” Will mumbled.
    Fan chuckled and kissed his temple. “If you ever get tired of being a salesman, William, I do believe you could get a position in a carnival sideshow.”
    Will pulled back and gave him a quizzical look.
    “As the Human Geyser,” Fan said, and playfully slapped Will’s bare ass.
    Even that was heavenly.
     
     
    O NCE CLEAN and dry and sated, they made a supper of bread and oxtail soup. Will finally told Fan about the Spiritorium and its grim-faced but luxuriously dressed owner. He related Simon’s encounter, and his own, then apologized for not remembering more details—including the odd name the man had spoken.
    Fan listened intently. “How very strange,” he finally said, his chin resting on thumb and forefinger.
    “I’m sorry that’s all I can recall, but I was quite busy. And his presence left me a bit shaken.”
    “So you don’t know his name or where he came from?”
    “No. I never thought to ask. Frankly, after all his railing about hedonists and fornicators and Simon dancing with the devil, I just wanted to be away from him.” Will grimaced at the memory. “And that garish wagon he claimed was some sort of miracle-working machine.”
    He rose from the table, went to the stove, and lifted the pot of water that had gone from boiling to steaming. “Well,” he said on a sigh, “I suppose there’s no point stewing about it.” After carrying the hot water to the sink, he poured it in.
    “No, I suppose there isn’t. Whether that preacher stays in Purinton or moves on, we’ll likely never hear of him again.” Fan put the bread in its box, then gathered up the empty soup kettle and ladle, the pair of bowls and spoons, and carried them to the sink.
    Will always washed the dishes and Fan always dried them. When they were finished, they always exchanged a kiss. Cleaning up after meals was one of many small domestic rituals Will had come to treasure.
    This was his home, a genuine home. And Fan, he felt in his heart, was his beloved husband.
    They were both unusually quiet. Fan, a crease in his brow, seemed thoughtful.
    “Is something on your mind?” Will asked.
    The crease deepened. “Last night, while I was standing at the window….”
    “What about it?”
    Fan’s hand went still. The linen towel hung limply from his fingers. After a moment he shook his head. “Nothing. You know, that fellow sounds like a monotheist, the kind who believes in an unforgiving god that exists solely to lay down laws and dole out all sorts of gruesome punishments for breaking those laws. I know there are still pockets of them around.”
    Will scrubbed at the soup kettle. “Hm. Whatever the case, making people afraid and suspicious and hateful doesn’t seem like a very good stewardship technique. For any god.”
    One side of Fan’s mouth turned up. “Except the dictatorial ones.” He leaned a hip against the counter. “Followers probably don’t mind, though. They reckon they’ll be rewarded instead of chastised. I imagine they think of themselves as members of an exclusive club that offers exceptional benefits.”
    Will set aside his sponge and pumped clear water over the kettle. “I still don’t understand the lure of it.”
    “Nor do I. But I concluded a long time ago that the lure was either very simple or very complicated.” Fan took the kettle from Will and absently wiped. “My mother used to talk about that sort of thing,” he murmured, growing thoughtful again.
    “About religion?” Will was surprised. That wasn’t a common topic of conversation