Let Them Eat Stake: A Vampire Chef Novel

by Sarah Zettel

  Slowly Trudy folded the paper and tucked it into the pocket of her work dress. I watched hard mental calculations chase one another around behind her eyes for a long moment. I also abruptly remembered the tears in her eyes when she’d watched Reese standing by me even as the mess got itself piled higher and deeper.

  “He hasn’t seriously tried to stop the wedding,” she said softly. “He’s making a lot of noise, but he’s not really doing anything.”

  I sucked on my cheek, then asked the other question—the one I’d asked Mrs. Alden but gotten no good answer to. “Why wasn’t Adrienne worried about Gabriel and company stealing the Arall?”

  Trudy frowned. “Because you can’t steal the Arall,” she said. “It’s not a thing; it’s a formula.”

  “Formula?” I repeated slowly. “Like a recipe?”

  Trudy nodded. “Adrienne’s specialty is potions. She’s what’s called a Macbeth worker, after the three witches in the play. You know, ‘eye of newt, toe of frog…’”

  This time the penny didn’t just drop. A whole shower of coins rained down inside my skull. I was also an idiot—a total and complete idiot. Because I’d been staring at a big-ass clue every time I looked into that beautiful, herb-filled garden. And that was even before I’d gotten my hands on that recipe in Oscar’s office.

  Karina had an antivamp perfume contract? What could be better than basing it on her family’s own secret recipe?

  “Mrs. Alden, Adrienne, ripped the ingredients out of the garden so no one would be able to figure the formula out by coming in and having a look around.” She’d cleaned out her kitchen for the same reason, throwing away everything and anything that might be a hint as to how she brewed up her potions, any potions, not just the Arall. She’d taken precautions, all right. Only they weren’t against the Renaults. They were against her own daughter.

  “Deanna knew she’d done it, of course,” Trudy went on. “I’m sure she’s told Gabriel. Whether he told the other two…I don’t know.”

  So, Henri might not have known the Arall was a concept, not an artifact. He even might have thought it was being hidden in plain sight on the mantelpiece, just like I had. “What does the Arall do?”

  Trudy hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s a family secret.”

  You’re lying. I carefully kept my eyes on my coffee. I waited. A lot of times people will talk too much, just to cover a silence. But Trudy was better than that. We both sat there, watching steam curl in our cups, and thinking our own thoughts. I thought about the Last Resort and the Five Points Riot for a while as I stared out at the back garden. But I also thought about Adrienne Alden being a potion worker and a control freak. Would she kill Oscar if she found out he’d gotten hold of the Arall formula? She might. But would she let her daughter take the blame, even if her daughter had betrayed the family?

  She might. She was a Maddox after all.

  I remembered her watching Deanna and Gabriel out in the dark, declaring their love, and the fact that they didn’t know why they loved.

  Oh. No. She didn’t. She wouldn’t.

  “Trudy?” I whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Could Adrienne make a love potion?”

  Trudy met my gaze, and I watched the pennies raining down behind her eyes.

  “Would she make a love potion and feed it to Gabriel?” I asked. “Or maybe to him and Deanna?”

  “Oh no. She wouldn’t.”

  “Are you sure? Because it seems to me it’d be a hell of a way to keep Deanna safe from his blood family and to control them both at the same time. Deanna would become very, very cooperative, because she’d need her mother’s help to stay together with her true love, and a magically induced love would be strong enough to crack Gabriel’s bond with his sire. Wouldn’t it?” I added. Just in case the Renaults were planning something like, say, just for argument’s sake, theft or blackmail, Gabriel would now be both willing and able to side with Deanna and her family, splitting apart the nightblood forces—and possibly splitting them apart far enough that he would be able to kill his sire if Henri continued to threaten his true love and her family. Adrienne Alden was covering all the bases.

  Trudy’s face screwed up painfully tight, and she drummed her fingers against the marble countertop. “Maybe. Maybe. Oh, blessed mother and father, she just might have. That would explain it. And she’s been putting Lloyd off, telling him she’s got it under control…”

  More ideas dropped into place for me, a whole summer shower of them. “Trudy, can you work potions?”

  “A little.” She shrugged. “I’m a water witch, so I have an affinity to brewing.”

  “Could you do up an antidote to a love potion?”

  Trudy was very quiet for a long moment. “Yes.” She spoke to the bottom of her coffee cup. “Probably, anyway. Breaking a spell is usually easier than setting it.” She paused. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking it’s not fair.” That was why looking at that gorgeous white dress had made me sad. On some level, I’d already known Deanna and Gabriel were being used. “I don’t care what else is going on; it’s not right.” It’s not right to play with other people’s existence, even if they’re your own kids—especially if they’re your own kids. I suddenly found I had lost my ability to sit still. “I have to get out of here.” I grabbed my knife roll and my chef’s coat and headed for the side door.

  “Are you going to tell Brendan Maddox?” Trudy asked behind me.

  “Yes.” I had to. This was so huge, I couldn’t even consider keeping it secret, even though my throat tightened painfully at the thought of how this new wrinkle to his family mess would hurt him. “But…I don’t want him to be the one who has to break the spell. He’s taking enough heat as it is.”

  Trudy nodded, her gray eyes sad. There was so much going on inside her. I couldn’t even begin to guess at half of it, but the regret was plain to see. “Okay. This all might take a day or so. I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you. My number’s on that paper too.” I paused. “I’m really sorry, Trudy.”

  “Me too, Charlotte. Me too.” She stood up, smoothing down her dress. “In case I don’t get the chance later…thank you for everything.”

  She headed upstairs, I assumed to pack something or leave official notice, or maybe key the Scarlett O’Hara staircase. I took my stuff and headed out the door. As soon as I was clear of the house, I had my phone in my hand. I’d thought I’d be going to Nightlife first, but my conversation with Trudy had changed my mind. I needed to get hold of Brendan, now. He had to hear what I knew, whether he wanted to or not. Because it was his family, and because he trusted me.

  I just wished that one day I could deliver the closest thing I had to a boyfriend some good news for a change.

  24

  But Brendan wasn’t answering his phone, again. I left a voice message asking him to call, and telling him I’d be at Nightlife instead of Brooklyn Heights. As I did, another one of those bad feelings crawled slowly up my spine. After unearthing Henri Renault’s jewelry in Gabriel’s bedroom, and spotting an NYU class ring that might just have belonged to a kid murdered right around the time the Five Points Riot was going down and that also might be the center of a blackmail scheme, I found I really did not like not knowing where Brendan was.

  I could have caught a cab back to Manhattan, but I needed time. I had to think about what I was going to tell my people. I had to give Brendan time to get my message and call back. So, I sat on the subway train, watched the lights and stations flicker past, and tried and failed to think. And then tried some more. And then failed some more.

  Because I was about to put a halt to the wedding of the decade, deliberately and with malice aforethought. That meant the money was never going to materialize. Not to mention that Felicity was never going to speak to me again. Elaine was going to quit for sure this time. Mel might just possibly forgive me, after a while. At least I could put off telling those three what had happened until after
I’d gotten Trudy’s antidote to Gabriel and Deanna. But I had to tell Reese and Zoe today, just like I had to tell Brendan. They deserved to know. Besides, there was no way I was letting any of my people walk back into that double-width, Italianate mansion with its so thoroughly messed-up residents. Zoe and Reese would be all right, though. They had plans, and by now, I was pretty sure I knew what those plans were. I just didn’t know how I was going to manage without them.

  I had to tell Marie too. I rested my head against the train window. I was a dead chef walking.

  I let myself in through the back door of Nightlife and was greeted by a kitchen full of silence. The lights were all on. Pans of perfect golden brown chiffon cake occupied the cooling racks by the pastry oven and filled the air with sweetness and warmth. But they were unattended, as were the prep stations, the cooktop, and the grill. I dropped my purse on my desk and put my hands on my hips. I’d been working myself into my own particular dither only to walk in on an empty kitchen? It seemed like a waste of effort.

  Then I heard the voices coming in from the dining room.

  “We can’t, not while Alden week is going on,” Zoe was saying. “You both know it. She’ll have a total, control-freak meltdown.”

  “It does not matter,” answered Marie in full Cakeinator mode. “It is up to her how she will react. It is up to you to act like grown-ups, not naughty children.”

  I drifted to the door and leaned in close. I might have qualms about eavesdropping on clients, but those were my people out there.

  “Zoe,” said Reese, “that meltdown you’re worried about is already on the way. She knows we’re keeping something from her. Hell, the whole kitchen knows what’s happening. I had to ban Hank from coming out to Brooklyn anymore. He almost gave it up last time.”

  “I know, I know. But we need her focused on the Alden wedding, for Nightlife, and for her sake as well. As soon as the wedding’s over, I’ll tell her myself, I swear.”

  It’s not often in life you get to time your own entrance. “What are you going to tell me?” I asked, pushing through into the dining room.

  The looks on my sous-chefs’ faces as they jumped back would stay with me for a long time. Marie, of course, did not jump back. She just turned smoothly, so I could see her mouth was set in a thin straight line.

  “Chef Caine…,” began Zoe.

  I held up my hand. “I know.” There’s a space between calm and numb that you get to when you’re already aware the worst has arrived. It’s surprisingly peaceful there. “You’re quitting. You’ve gotten the truck, and you’re setting up on your own.” Zoe opened her mouth, but I didn’t let her finish. “I don’t blame you. If it makes things any easier, the Alden wedding really is off now. I’ll be settling up with Felicity Garnett as soon as it’s official, but our kill fee isn’t going to come to even a quarter of what we would have made on the catering. So right now, I don’t know how Nightlife’s going to make it through next year. If you’re going, this is a very good time.”

  Reese folded his arms and looked to Zoe. Zoe responded by rolling her eyes. “Told you, didn’t I? Control-freak meltdown.”

  “This is not a meltdown.” Zoe had seen me melt down, and I would have expected her to be able to tell the difference.

  “Of course it is not,” said Marie. “You only melt down when you cannot be the martyr.”

  I stared. I couldn’t help it. Marie waved my stare away. “Madre de Dios. You think none of us know you by now? You believe you have an answer you do not in fact have, and you are answering to nothing but your imagination. Again.” She added that last word, looking at me over the rims of her glasses. “No one is leaving. Nightlife is going to be reviewed by the New York Times.”

  Those words sank in and set off a very strange reaction in my brain. A sort of whump sound, like when you turn a gas burner on high.

  “The New York Times?” I said, just to make sure I’d heard properly. Because there now seemed to be a ringing in my ears. Zoe was trying to stare daggers at Marie, but she was hopelessly outclassed. No one was answering me. “Nightlife is going to be reviewed by the New York Times?” I said, louder this time.

  “Probably not for a month or so,” said Reese. “Zoe’s contact’s not completely sure…but we’re on the critic’s target list.”

  Zoe sighed and shrugged in surrender. “That’s what we haven’t been telling you. I got a call from a friend after you took the wedding on. I didn’t want to tell you because you would have…”

  “Had a total control-freak blowout?”

  “She said meltdown,” Reese jerked his thumb at Zoe. “Now, I personally, think a blowout is much more your style.”

  They were all looking at me, waiting to find out which noun was going to show up. Pride elbowed anger, and both turned around to face my staff. I could let them have it. I should let them have it. This was not a small secret, or the discovery somebody had described me as having a frowny face. This was massive. The Times was the gold standard. There were thousands of restaurants in New York, and the Times chose only a handful each year to visit. Even with the proliferation of online review sites, the opinion of their dining critic could still completely make a restaurant. Or completely break it. This could be the most important thing to happen to Nightlife to date, and my staff had kept it from me, because they thought I couldn’t handle myself. They thought I was as bad as Oscar and had to be managed…

  But Marie’s words loomed up in my brain. You are answering to nothing but your imagination.

  I stomped hard on the brakes of my runaway thoughts, because if I didn’t, I was just proving all three of them right, and not in a good way.

  “Okay.” I made my shoulders square themselves. These were my people. I owed them my best. What was happening with the Aldens was not their fault. “I was serious about the wedding being off. Before the end of the week, our bacon will officially need saving, and a good NYT review could at least help. Is there a current picture of the critic up in the kitchen?” The Times critic was supposed to visit restaurants anonymously. Maybe that happened the first time or two. After that, everybody had the picture posted.

  Zoe nodded. “And Robert and Suchai are on red alert.”

  “They’ll spot him. Thanks for handling this, Zoe.”

  She blinked. “You’re welcome, Chef.”

  Reese was controlling himself, manfully, but it wasn’t going to last much longer. I clenched my jaw and crossed my arms to conceal that I was also clenching my fists. There was something else that needed to be taken care of right now.

  “Zoe? Marie?” I said.

  “Yes, Chef?” replied Zoe. Marie just waited with exaggerated patience to hear what I had to say, but she clearly did not hold out great hopes for it.

  “As you may know, Reese has been thinking we should consider a food truck…”

  Zoe didn’t let me get any further. “Now’s a bad time to launch a truck. The trend’s already peaking.” She said this directly to Reese. Clearly, there’d been more than one conversation going on behind my back. “But if we were going to think about expanding, we should consider a café.”

  “Café?”

  “Quick and casual after-sunset dining,” said Zoe. “No one’s really going after the nighttime equivalent of the lunch crowd. We could have a take-out counter with Marie’s milkshakes leading the list. It’ll have to be fast, smooth service, very tight logistics. Reese would be just the one to run it.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise. “You don’t want the job?”

  Zoe shook her head and said matter-of-factly, “I want your job.”

  “It’s a nice idea,” cut in Reese. “And I do like being Just the One. But start-up costs would be a mint and a half. That’s the whole point of getting a truck. Start-up’s nothing, even with the permits. We’ll be turning a profit at the end of the first month. And,” he added as Zoe drew a deep breath, “it won’t matter if the ‘trend’s already peaking.’” I never met anybody who could pack more attitude into a p
air of air quotes than Reese. “It’s not peaking for haute noir food. That trend’s barely even started.”

  Marie threw up her hands. “Children. I am surrounded by children. I am going back to my cakes.”

  “Um, about the cake, Marie…”

  She waved me off without even bothering to turn back around. “I already knew this was not happening. Those cakes are for my niece’s quinciñera.”

  I was surprised, and aware I should not have been. This was Marie. She was different from the rest of us. Witness how I wasn’t chewing her out for using the restaurant kitchen for personal business. “How’d you know?”

  “No one who would choose raspberry and vanilla over my apricot walnut is in her right mind.”

  Marie vanished into the kitchen, leaving me with Zoe and Reese and the grand schemes they still hoped could rise from the ashes of this latest disaster. They were talented, and impatient, and, whether I wanted them to be or not, they were right. Yes, money was an issue—a hulking eight-hundred-pound gorilla of an issue. But I knew this much—if Nightlife stood still, it would die. We had to grow. The only question was how.

  Now was a chance to show what I was really made of. I needed to make a decision, and for a change, I knew just what it should be.

  “I want business plans on my desk,” I said. “For the café and the truck. Cost projections, revenue projections, menu outlines—the works. We get a good review from the Times, and we’ll implement the best proposal.”

  At this, my sous didn’t just look at each other; they sized each other up, gleefully.

  “So, get on it,” I told them both. “We’re on the clock.”

  “Yes, Chef,” said Zoe calmly.

  Reese’s eyes gleamed. “Oh yeah. I can work with this.”

  I watched them as they headed for the kitchen, ornery pride and ornery affection jockeying for position inside me. Then, a thought smacked me in the back of my head, reminding me what was going on outside, and that I’d better fight my way out of the current mess before diving headfirst into the next one.