by Trudi Jaye
Her mouth went dry and butterflies fluttered in her belly. As a teenager, Calcium River Flyers had been big, handsome, and strong. She’d loved everything about him, until she’d heard him bragging to his friends the day after they’d finally made love. A typical eighteen-year-old, she’d run home and cried the whole afternoon. That night, her mother had woken her just after midnight and they’d left the Carnival the same way they’d arrived, with half-packed bags and no explanation.
It wasn’t until much later that she learned her mother had been doing curse magic in secret and had fought with Abba, the Carnival’s Ringmaster, over it. But at the time, she’d been glad. It meant she would be as far away from Cal as she possibly could go.
Now she was about to see him again. Unexpectedly, raw pain filled her, and she put one fist against her chest, trying to settle her pounding heart. It was different than the usual sharp pain from Veronica’s curse magic; this felt like she was burning from the inside, like some vital organ was being sautéed over high heat. It had been so long since he’d broken her heart, but suddenly, it felt like it was yesterday.
Her steps faltered and stopped. She wasn’t ready for this.
But she wasn’t here for her own benefit. She needed to keep Kitten safe until she could get her sister away from their mother. The only way to do that at the moment was to do what her mother wanted.
Straightening her shoulders, Tilly stomped over to the van. She could put up with anything if it was for her sister.
His broad shoulders came into view before anything else. He had his back to her and was digging around in the van. He was even bigger than he’d been when they were teenagers—she could see that from a glance—but his hair was the same color of caramel, curling up just over his collar.
Straightening, he turned, his strong arms holding a large catering box. Blue eyes locked onto hers and his expression hardened. Tilly froze, unable to tear her eyes away from his intense gaze despite the anger she could see on his face. She frowned. She was angry with him; he had no right to be angry with her.
“Garth said you’d turned up again,” he said. His deep voice was still like melted chocolate. “I didn’t believe him.”
“He said you’d give me a ride to the Compound,” she replied.
“Only because Garth asked me to.”
Tilly opened her mouth to tell him to stuff his ride and then closed it. She couldn’t afford to annoy him. “Thanks,” she said instead.
He paused, frowning at her, and then shrugged. He jerked his head toward the van. “Make yourself useful and carry in one of those boxes.” He stalked toward the house.
Tilly peered into the van, where catering boxes were piled high. She didn’t understand why the Carnival was doing outside catering, but they had an entire division of chefs and cooks under the Foodmaster Tami who worked tirelessly every summer to provide food for the punters at the Carnival’s many stops—so they were perfectly capable. They’d just never done it before.
There was a gap down the side, so she shoved her backpack into the space and then picked up one of the boxes. It was heavy, but she’d developed decent-sized muscles working as a barmaid and carrying about boxes of alcohol.
When she looked up, he’d disappeared, so she hurried toward the nearest door and elbowed her way through. There was a long hallway and sounds of a kitchen at the end. She followed the noise and found a busy commercial kitchen at the back. On the far side, Cal was chatting with a woman in a chef’s uniform, next to a pile of the boxes. He smiled down at the woman, his charm on full force and his single dimple out on show.
Tilly frowned but walked carefully over to them. “Should I put it here?” she asked.
Cal barely glanced at Tilly and then nodded before going back to his conversation with the attractive brunette. “There’s more in the van, if you could keep bringing them in,” he said without looking in her direction.
Tilly almost told him where he could shove his suggestion, the inclination burning up her throat. But she nodded and walked back outside. Kitten’s life meant more to her than her pride.
She carried in another three heavy boxes before he finished chatting to the woman and came to help her with the last two. They headed back outside without saying another word.
Tilly climbed in the van, trying not to let the anger that had so easily resurfaced control her. She’d always had a bad temper, and the years had done nothing to mellow it. But since leaving the Carnival, she’d had to learn to keep it inside, to not let her feelings show, especially in front of her mother.
It had been hard won, and she wasn’t going to let a little bit of anger with Cal stop her now.
Cal climbed in beside her, revved up the engine, and they were off, driving slowly down the alleyway along the side of the house. In the confines of the cab, Tilly smelled the faint aroma of honey and spices—Cal’s scent. She’d always loved it when they were younger, and even now, with the anger boiling between them, it was comforting. Some things never changed.
He remained silent for the first five minutes of their drive, and Tilly didn’t mind one bit. She didn’t want to talk to him. He was obviously the same immature asshole who’d conned her when they were young. In fact, she didn’t even know why she’d let him touch her. He was so obviously an idiot.
“So what’s the story, Tilly? Why are you back?” he said abruptly.
Tilly jumped and then reminded herself to settle down. They were all going to ask this question. “I got fired and needed somewhere to stay.” She shrugged, trying to keep it light. “Garth invited me.”
“Why not go to your mother?”
Why not indeed? Tilly hadn’t lived with her mother since she was nineteen, at least not in the same house. She’d eventually realized what her mother was and since then had tried to keep a bit of distance between them, even if it was just down the road in the L.A. complex owned by Veronica. But she couldn’t say that to Cal. “She’s on holiday,” she said. “A cruise.”
Cal snorted. “I doubt that. I don’t know what your game is, but your mother is part of it.”
Tilly looked over at him. He didn’t believe her. She tried again. “I don’t see much of my mother these days if I can help it. And I needed a complete break, somewhere different to recharge. The Compound holds good memories for me.” She glanced at Cal. “Mostly.”
His hands tightened on the wheel, but that was the only indication he’d understood the dig at him. “The Carnival is in trouble. We don’t need wasters like you coming to sponge off us.”
“I’m not a waster,” said Tilly indignantly. “I had a perfectly good job up until a week ago.” When she’d been forced by her mother to quit so she could come here.
“Then how’d you lose it? You can’t have been that great,” sneered Cal.
He was right. How did she explain that? “I, uh… I had a fight with my boss.”
“Now that I can believe.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Tilly, annoyed despite the fact that the fight had been imaginary.
“Look, Tilly. Don’t pull any of your crap around the Compound right now. I know what you’re like, and it’s the last thing we need.”
Even through her angry haze, she realized he was giving her an opening. She took a breath. “What kind of problems?” she asked cautiously. Maybe Cal would tell her what she needed to know, and she could leave again as quickly as she’d arrived.
He glanced at her and then at the road, shaking his head. “If Garth didn’t tell you, I’m sure not going to.”
She clenched her hand but said nothing. The implication that she couldn’t be trusted didn’t pass her by.
The rest of the ride was in silence, Tilly not willing to risk giving herself away to Cal with the anger that was now swirling around her like a physical presence. She hadn’t been this angry since she was a teenager. And all he’d had to do was insinuate she might not be trustworthy, that she sometimes caused a fuss. Tilly determined right then and there that she was go
ing to spend as little time as possible with Cal for the next few weeks.
Her heart constricted. If this took too long, she might have to miss Christmas with her sister. Kitten wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t know why her big sister was deserting her.
Tilly blinked, then shook her head, trying to get rid of the image of her mother holding Kitten a little too tight, squeezing her until a little yelp of pain from Kitten made her stop. Often, that was enough to get a jump of magic from the curses: a little bit of pain from hugging your child too tight. She’d experienced a lifetime of those hugs, never realizing what it meant.
She hardened her resolve. She’d known it would be difficult to see Cal again, but it didn’t need to tar the brush of her whole time at the Compound. Garth still had time for her; he trusted her enough to let her come here. She closed her eyes for a moment. It was a pity Cal was right and she couldn’t be trusted. That she was here with the intention of spying for their enemies.
It didn’t take long to arrive back at the Compound, and Cal drove directly to the big kitchens behind the food hall. He jumped out of the van without a word to her and stalked off to the kitchen entrance, leaving her on her own. Tilly got out of the van more slowly, went to the back, grabbed her backpack, and started walking in the opposite direction. She would go to Garth’s house and see where he’d organized for her to stay.
She was only fifty yards away when Cal yelled her name.
“Tilly,” he called again. “Where do you think you’re going?” He was standing on one side of the hall, hands on his hips.
“To see Garth. Find out where I’m staying.”
Cal smiled, but not nicely. “You’re staying here. Garth said to ask if you could help out with our next big event. We’re short-staffed.”
Tilly wanted to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, but if Garth had asked her to do it, of course she would help out. She still hesitated because Cal’s expression made her want to punch him, but in the end, she sighed and walked back to the kitchen area.
CHAPTER THREE
“Where can I put my bag?” she asked.
“In the store room.” He gestured off to one side of the busy kitchen. Tilly looked around curiously as she went to deposit her bag. It was a normal commercial kitchen filled with stressed staff moving quickly back and forth, orders being yelled across the different stations. It didn’t look much different from the times they’d been ordered back here for dishes duty after they’d done something wrong.
“When you come back, grab an apron and start peeling.” Cal pointed at a station set up with potatoes and a peeler.
If he thought he was going to piss me off, he was wrong, Tilly thought with a smile half an hour later. She’d missed being in a kitchen, and this kind of work was soothing. It was second nature to her to stand there peeling and cutting the potatoes. A couple times, she reached for her ability, and a nasty zing of pain reminded her she just had to do it like everybody else now. But even that couldn’t bring her down.
It didn’t take long to peel and cut the massive bag, and she walked over to where Cal was directing three other chefs.
“What is it? You’re tired and want to go home?” Cal said, putting on a high-pitched voice.
Tilly kept still, trying to clamp down on her anger. “I’m finished,” she said quietly.
His expression was worth it all. He hadn’t expected her to finish, let alone do it this fast. She only just held in the smirk that wanted to break out on her face.
“Come on, then. I’ll give you something else to do if you’re so fast.”
The next job he gave her, washing dishes, was equally designed to crush her spirit, but again, she didn’t mind.
As she tightened her apron, she smiled at Art, a big burly kitchen hand working next to the dishes station. She recognized him from her many kitchen punishments when she was a teenager.
“Tillemina Shaw, well, I’ll be damned!” he said and came over to envelop her in a massive hug. “What’re you doing here?”
Tilly shrugged. “Got fired from my job, and Garth said I could come stay.”
“It’s good to see you. You were always such a firecracker when you were a kid. Made everything around you light up.”
Tilly blushed. “Thanks, Art.”
“So you thinkin’ ‘bout stayin’ for good?” asked Art as he went back to chopping carrots with a huge knife.
She smiled over at him. “I don’t have any place to go, not really. And it was always good when Mom and I were here.”
“You were a such a tiny, innocent-looking girl, but you always seemed to get yourself into terrible scrapes,” mused Art. “You ‘n Cal.” He nodded in Cal’s direction.
Tilly frowned over at Cal where he was discussing menus with another chef. “I grew out of that a while ago,” she said.
Art snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it. My boy used to follow you and the older kids around like you were gods. Any trouble happened, Abba used to go find you and Cal first thing.” He laughed. “Made it easy on him, really. Didn’t have to figure out who was dumb enough to string tinsel to the high wire or make the carousel go backward. Always knew it was the two of you.”
Tilly’s heart sank. Art was right. They’d had lots of fun—her, Cal, Garth, and the others. And now she was here to betray them all.
She tightened her grip on the saucepan she was holding. “We were young, I guess. Didn’t know what we were doing.”
“I did’n mean to make ya feel bad. Abba liked your spirit, admired it even. No point in having Carnival kids with no gumption, he always said.”
A lump formed in Tilly’s throat, and she wiped away a tear. “I miss him,” she said.
“Abba?”
She nodded. She hadn’t seen him in almost eight years, but when she heard he’d been killed, she’d cried. And now, the Carnival seemed a little bit emptier, not quite as vibrant without him.
She heard heavy footsteps behind her and knew Cal was back to find some new torment for her. She surreptitiously wiped away her tears and turned to face him, her expression blank.
“You’ll need to hurry and finish those dishes. The onions are next.” He glared at Art. “You should know better than to distract the newbies, Art.”
“Ach, Cal, she ain’t no newbie. She’s a cracker in the kitchen. You mebe ain’ noticed, but I have. And she’s a Carnival kid. When you start in the Carnival, you’re allowed to finish in the Carnival.”
Cal frowned and looked a second time at Tilly as she placed the last of the dishes on the bench top. She’d powered through them in record time and knew she’d done a good job. If Cal didn’t want to see that, she wasn’t worried.
“Come on, then. On to the onions.”
Tilly smiled at Art. “I’ll see you ‘round.”
“You take care, Tilly.”
Cal led her to the other side of the large commercial kitchen. As they walked, she smiled and nodded at several of the people working at the various stations. It was amazing how many people she still remembered. They might be bigger—in some cases hairier—but they still looked the same.
“We need all these onions chopped. Try not to cry too much,” Cal said.
Tilly looked at the large bag of onions. “How big?”
“Small as you can,” he replied, then walked away.
Tilly sighed and turned to the onions. She’d done this kind of job so many times she could do it blindfolded. Most people hated the way onions made them cry, but for some reason, she never minded. Taking up the knife, she began expertly peeling and then cutting into the first onion. Before long, she had a large, evenly chopped pile.
Again, his heavy steps warned her when Cal came to check on her, but she didn’t look up. She just kept up the swift slicing that was second nature.
“Where did you learn to do that? Why didn’t you tell me you’d worked in a kitchen?” he demanded from behind her.
Tilly shrugged. “You didn’t ask,” she replied. “You wer
e too busy trying to punish me for something.”
“What else can you do?” he said, his voice sharp.
Tilly stopped and looked at him. “Most anything I put my hand to, generally.” She glared at him in resentment.
“I mean in the kitchen. What kind of kitchen experience do you have?”
“I worked for about seven years in a few different restaurants, worked my way up to sous chef.”
“Garth said you worked in a bar.” Cal watched her closely, his eyes narrowed.
Tilly sighed. “I did. When I moved to Vegas, no one wanted me to cook. They just wanted people to serve alcohol.” Not to mention Veronica had blocked her talent for creating the perfect dish. It had taken the joy of working in restaurants away from her—the same as if she’d been a pianist and had her arm chopped off—so she’d avoided kitchen jobs ever since.
Cal just watched her for a moment and then let out a sharp breath of air. “We need an experienced chef to help us prep for another big wedding. Can I set you up at a station and let you go for it?”
Could she do it without her powers? Tilly took a breath and nodded. “Sure. Just tell me what you want.” The finished result might not be as sublime as she used to be able to achieve, but it would be good enough.
He led her to a small station with ingredients piled in preparation. He grabbed a pack of knives from a shelf and handed them to her. “We’re making a special dish, our take on beef Wellington. I need you to prep all the ingredients. The recipe is there.” He pointed to the sheet clipped above her station.
Tilly pulled down the recipe and started to read. Cal hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left her to it.
Unrolling the knife pack, Tilly looked for the best one to cut up the fresh herbs. She smiled to herself; she really did like using knives.
Hours later, Tilly looked up and realized she was one of the last people still in the kitchen. Only Cal and a couple others were around. They’d had a busy shift during dinner for the Carnival folk, and then after it calmed down, they’d continued with the prep for the wedding they were catering the next day.