Several thousand possibilities popped up, dismaying him. It would take days to wade through all that!
Look for that which has been successful longest, the dragon directed with supreme confidence. Tried and true is best trusted.
Mikhail accepted that as reasonable: all the fighting forms he had mastered were centuries old. Feeling triumphant that he was on the right track at last, he narrowed his search parameters to items no more recent than two centuries.
After a time, he set down the phone. “Matchmakers . . . morning calls . . . flowers . . . what type of flowers? Do I bring them in containers?”
His dragon just hummed contentedly, so Mikhail plunged back into the mysteries of humanity.
FIVE
BIRD
“It’s not a date,” Bird told herself as she tossed and turned in her bed that night.
It was a lunch date. Not a date date.
Still, she spent the morning alternating between determinedly attacking her usual chores and going back to her closet to paw through everything yet again, as if a new, pretty outfit had somehow snuck its way in.
When she stood before the closet in her undies (she tried not to look at how old they were) she finally did what she’d known she was going to do all along: put the pink blouse back on, neatly hung up the evening before, and the floaty teal pants with the pink camellias embroidered on them. If Mikhail left in disgust after seeing the same outfit twice, well, that would be good, wouldn’t it? Best to find out now if he was a judgmental snob, or a…
She halted that line of thought, and brushed her hair until it crackled. With shaky fingers (it’s just a lunch!) she applied the lipstick that was older than some of Doris’s students, and at last went out and got on her bike.
At the restaurant, she stopped short when she saw Mikhail standing before the door, dressed in a beautifully tailored suit and wearing a tie of a muted silver that matched his eyes. He had left his cane behind, but held a fabulous bouquet of roses that nearly hid his face.
“Bird,” he said, and his voice went right through her to pool down deep in parts of her she’d forgotten existed. “How very fine you look. Here are flowers. I hope you like them.”
“I love flowers,” she said a little helplessly. What was she going to do with them in a restaurant?
She settled them in her arms, wondering guiltily how much such a huge bouquet had cost, as he opened the door. The cuisine was Southwestern, the place simple in décor, designed around the fantastic view over the ocean. Since the weather had dawned clear and pleasant, the host led them outside. Bird placed the roses on the chair next to her.
When at last they were alone, she made herself stop staring at the menu and the roses, and meet his gaze. Heat flowed through her.
“Uh, you mentioned business,” she began at the same time he said, “Thank you for agreeing to—”
They both stopped. A painful few seconds passed, then he said, “I beg your pardon. You were saying,” at the same time that she said, “You first.”
Another pause.
Then she said quickly, “You mentioned something about art?”
“I would like to hire you to sketch a certain set of old drawings in the caverns. I believe I mentioned at our first meeting that I was sent to examine the cavern containing them.”
Bird said doubtfully, “But isn’t it mainly a lot of graffiti down there?”
“There is. Most of it is in the outer area. There are caverns further back that have gone unexplored. I believe this is the area recently revealed by the quake. Because of the tidal flow, the debris has been swept away. It is fairly easy to access.”
“But that area is off-limits,” she said.
“That beach, I believe you know, is owned by the city, but they have arranged through the university to look into possible archaeological finds. Only authorized persons are permitted there, and as I was recommended by a colleague at the university, I first examined the caves. Though I would not recommend them for hordes of visitors, I believe the rock, which is quite ancient, is stable enough for our purposes. I would of course be with you.”
I would of course be with you. More butterflies ignited deep inside Bird, sparkly ones, at the thought of being alone with him.
She shifted on the upholstered restaurant bench, trying to banish those butterflies. “I don’t want to sound like I’m refusing—it sounds fascinating—but couldn’t you just take pictures?”
“I am afraid that light sufficient to illuminate the entirety and banish shadows might damage older images.”
“Oh, right,” Bird exclaimed. “I’m no expert about ancient art, though I love looking at it. But I’ve read about light-damage. I’d be happy to try, though I have to say this would be the first time I’ve ever attempted a project like that. I hope my drawings would be suitable.”