by Heidi Lang
“No way.” Lailu mixed the apple slices into the bowl of cinnamon and sugar until they were well coated, then glared at Greg. “Are you resting?”
Greg stood up hurriedly, almost falling over. “Nope. Not at all.”
“Good. Then start making some dough balls.” Lailu pointed at the ingredients piled up on the counter.
“Don’t change the subject,” Greg said. “Why can’t your mentor be in love?”
“Well, because . . . because he just can’t, okay?” The idea of Slipshod in love . . . yuck! Lailu shook her head.
“Oh, because you know so much about love.” Greg smirked.
Lailu scooped up a handful of flour and chucked it at him, smacking him right in the forehead.
“I can’t believe you just did that.” Greg’s face was full of shock, flour clinging to his hair like a dusting of snow around her mountain village.
“Oh yeah,” Lailu laughed. “And I’d do it again.”
“I’m so getting you back for that.” Greg reached into his own bowl and grabbed some flour. Lailu managed to duck just as white powder burst onto the cabinet above her, showering down into her pigtails.
“Your aim is as terrible as ever,” Lailu taunted as she ducked another flour ball. “No wonder I always beat you at knife throw—gah! ” She tripped over the chair, laughing as Greg smashed a handful of doughy flour right into her hair. “That doesn’t count! It was the chair!”
“So I had an accomplice. Still counts.”
“My, my, isn’t this fun?” Lianna surveyed the scene through the kitchen curtain.
Lailu froze, her face burning. “We were just baking.” She looked away from Greg.
“Just baking, huh?” Lianna’s smile widened. “I see.”
“Er, I’ll go put those pies in the oven, shall I?” Greg’s face was nearly as red as Lailu’s felt, but he was still smiling when he turned away to work with the oven.
Lailu brushed the flour from her hair as she followed her mother into the dining room. “Are you going to stick around long enough to answer some questions?” she demanded.
“Absolutely,” Lianna said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the plastic cylinder they’d found inside the automaton. “I think it’s time we all had a few answers.”
25
A FEW ANSWERS
Do you know what that is?” Lailu asked.
“Watch this.” Lianna ran her thumb along the side of the cylinder and pressed down, and the top popped up. She dumped out its contents: a small roll of translucent paper. “See?” She peeled an edge off the roll and pulled it straight. Now Lailu could see a series of tiny pictures in perfect detail, just like the pictures in the newspapers, only much smaller.
“Whoa,” Lailu whispered. She remembered how Elister had told her about this new trick.
“It looks like it somehow recorded important moments. Like this one.” Lianna tapped a tiny frame. In it, a series of automatons in various stages of creation stood in front of Starling. A few were missing arms or legs, and one had all its limbs, but wires were sticking out all over the place. “I think this was the First Day of Masks, after Starling unveiled these . . . things. I’m assuming she rushed their production after her demonstration didn’t go as planned.”
Lailu glanced through the other pictures. Most of them were of Starling, but a few were of her scientists. One picture showed Carbon in his signature bowler hat in a huddle with Neon and two other scientists Lailu didn’t recognize: a man with amazingly tall hair and a tiny woman. In the background, Lailu could just make out Wren crouched on the floor, watching them. There were no more pictures of Carbon after that, but there was another of Wren, this time working on an automaton. Walton? Probably.
Lailu skimmed the rest of the pictures, pausing at the sight of a very familiar wooden sign, a sign that featured a black splotch of ink below tiny, red writing. Lailu couldn’t read the words, but she’d never forget that image: the Crow’s Nest, Mr. Boss’s old not-so-secret hideout. Why would that be an important moment for the automaton? Frowning, she scrolled through the rest.
Near the end of the roll, the pictures fizzled, the colors running together and turning black. Just before they did, one face was very clear. A face with bright blue eyes and hundreds of blond braids. Eirad, his lips parted, teeth bared in a ferocious smile, caught for just a second before the automaton could record no more.
“It was definitely the elves who sabotaged the automatons for the parade, then,” Lailu said, handing the roll back to her mom. Had Eirad killed Carbon, too? She shivered. She knew she couldn’t trust him at all, knew he was capable of murder, but still, she just didn’t believe it. She looked at her mother and decided it was time to ask other questions. More personal questions. “Mom, why are you here? Really?”
Lianna brushed some of the flour off Lailu’s face.
Lailu batted her hand away. “I’m serious. I think I deserve to know.”
Lianna sighed. “Look at you, so grown-up, so quickly.” She tucked the cylinder out of sight. “Eli asked me to come out here.”
“Eli?”
“Lord Elister. He and I . . . we’re old friends. Sometimes I see things in my travels that are useful to him. And sometimes . . . sometimes I travel to places that are also useful to him.”
Lailu stared at her mother, at her familiar hazel eyes, the crow’s feet that had just started to creep out at the corners, her auburn hair twisted back from her face with a bit of colorful cloth. “Mom . . . ,” Lailu said slowly, carefully. “Are you a spy?”
Lianna laughed. “Oh, honey, don’t be ridiculous.”
Lailu relaxed.
“Of course I’m a spy.”
Lailu’s jaw dropped. The front door chimed, and Hannah waltzed in. “Oh! Mrs. Loganberry! And . . . Lailu? Is that flour on your face? And that expression is really not flattering.”
Lailu snapped her mouth shut.
“Pies are in the oven.” Greg poked his head through the kitchen curtain.
Wren burst in. “Hi, Lailu! Ready for me to start on the installations?”
“Wow, it’s like a regular party in here,” Hannah said.
Lailu rubbed her head. She didn’t have time for this. She wanted to ask her mother so many questions. How long had she been a spy? Who was she spying on? Who was she spying for? Did she just work for Elister? And the question that bothered her the most—why was she so willing to come to Twin Rivers when Elister asked, but she couldn’t be bothered to come out for her daughter’s graduation? Does she even care about me at all? Lailu wondered.
“Lailu?” Hannah said, waving a hand in front of her face.
“Just a minute, everyone. First, Mom—” But when she turned, her mother was gone. “Mom?”
“Oh, she slipped out the back,” Hannah said.
“When?”
“Just now. I saw her leaving. . . . I thought you noticed?”
“I was a little distracted by all of you.” Lailu sighed. She’d just have to ask her mother later. If she even bothered to show up again.
At least the pies looked was good.
Lailu managed to clean up and get a couple hours of sleep before it was time to prep for their dinner crowd. Slipshod seemed uncharacteristically jumpy. Twice Lailu caught him almost using sugar in place of salt, and once he managed to leave an entire griffin bone embedded in the casserole.
“Is everything all right?” Lailu asked, rescuing the dish and doing what she could to save it.
“Fine, fine. Everything’s fine.” Slipshod ran a hand down the length of his braid, and Lailu began to wonder if he really was in love. He kept glancing into the dining room like he was expecting someone. And she did remember that woman at Elister’s party, the one who’d been smiling right at him. . . .
Lailu was relieved when the first customers came piling in. She needed a distraction from her thoughts.
Despite the disastrous street fair, as the evening wore on, Lailu realized there were a lot of new face
s coming into her restaurant. Maybe not such a disaster after all, then. Even if their feast had been destroyed, people must have remembered Mystic Cooking and wanted to try some of her cuisine.
“Going back to Starling’s tonight?” Lailu asked Hannah as her friend loaded up a tray.
“Yes, after your diners leave. You know, she really appreciates my work. It’s been extremely rewarding. I mean, not that this isn’t rewarding work here too,” Hannah added quickly.
Lailu grunted and loaded up her own tray, then marched out of the kitchen. She tried not to feel betrayed. Still, it was obvious to her now that Hannah couldn’t wait to leave Mystic Cooking. It was just a matter of time before she got tired of sticking around and left Lailu behind entirely.
Lailu swallowed hard, her vision blurring. She paused at the edge of the dining room and took a few deep, shaky breaths. It wasn’t like her to be so sad so quickly, but she felt like ever since her mom showed up, she’d been off-balance, like she was trying to create a new meal with only half a recipe.
As she forced herself to move forward and serve her customers, she couldn’t help noticing how many of them were happy families, complete with parents who showed no signs of running off suddenly. The couples obviously out for a date weren’t much better; every time Lailu looked at them, she thought of Hannah and Vahn, and her chest ached. She didn’t care about Vahn anymore, but she hated the thought of losing her friend. Between Vahn and Starling, would there be any Hannah left for her?
Lailu was so distracted that she didn’t notice the familiar figure sitting at the table in the back corner until she was practically on top of him.
“Mr. Mustache?” Lailu gasped, recognizing one of Lord Elister’s bodyguards. Mr. Mustache and someone who looked like his clean-shaven twin sat together, with a slender boy nestled between them. Lailu scanned the room for Elister, but he wasn’t around. So what were his bodyguards doing here without him?
Hannah strode past.
“Wait,” Lailu began, but it was too late; Hannah had already gone right up to the table.
“And what can I get you fine gentlemen?” Hannah asked, and Lailu realized her friend had no idea who they were.
Mr. Mustache narrowed his eyes at her, completely impervious to her charm. “Nothing.” His twin grunted in response.
“I see,” Hannah said slowly. “You came to our restaurant for the fine atmosphere and comfortable seating arrangements only, is that it?”
“I wanted to eat here,” the boy sitting in the middle said. Lailu hovered behind Hannah, peeking out at him. He had a long, narrow face with high cheekbones, a delicate nose, and thick eyelashes framing large amber eyes. His hair was a pale blond that curled slightly at the ends where it brushed his thin shoulders. He reminded her of a bird, all hollow-boned and ready to fly away at a moment’s notice. And he looked so familiar . . . but he couldn’t possibly be . . .
“Wonderful!” Hannah turned the full force of her smile on him, and he seemed to melt under it, his cheeks burning. “One special, then?”
He nodded, and Hannah sashayed away.
Lailu remained frozen, staring at him. There was no way he was . . .
She was absolutely sure the king would not be eating in their tiny restaurant crammed in the bad side of town.
Would he?
“Move along, chef,” Mustache barked. “There’s nothing to see here.”
Lailu moved along. Her heart thumped painfully against her rib cage as she went to find Slipshod.
“Are you sure?” he asked her when she told him. His face had gone the color of unbleached flour.
“No, but I think so,” Lailu said.
“This is it. This is my chance,” Slipshod mumbled. “He said he might . . . but I wasn’t sure . . .”
“What do you mean?” Lailu asked. Her mentor did not look like himself, his eyes glazed, his hands held curled up at his chest, almost like a puppet being lifted from a box.
Slipshod took a deep breath, collecting himself. He adjusted his fluffy white chef’s hat, straightened his apron, and tucked his braided hair back. “How do I look?”
“Um,” Lailu said, “fine, I guess?”
Slipshod shook his head. “The one time I need Hannah,” he grumbled. “Okay, Pigtails, I’ll handle him myself. Go see to the other customers.”
Lailu nodded, relieved. The other customers, she could handle.
26
GENERATOR ON!
Lailu flipped the sign over to CLOSED and sagged against the door. She could hardly believe the king—the king!—had eaten at her restaurant.
“That went about as well as I could have hoped,” Slipshod said, rubbing his hands together.
“Did you know he was coming?” Lailu asked.
“I . . . er—”
Crash! Bam! Smash!
Lailu jumped. What was going on?
“Is that Wren?” Hannah asked. “Do you think she’s almost done installing the generator?” Wren had started working that morning and had been down in the wine cellar banging away ever since.
“That, or possibly smashing all our wine bottles.” Lailu flinched at the sound of another crash. She bit her lip. “Maybe I should go and check on her.”
“Good idea, Pigtails,” Slipshod said. “I’m going to go run a few errands. Make sure she doesn’t destroy everything in my absence.”
“Errands? Again?” Lailu asked. “Do you need my help?”
“No, no, better that you stay here.”
The floor shook with another crash.
Slipshod winced. “Yes, definitely better. Keep an eye on things.” And he headed out before Lailu could stop him.
“Do you really think he’s gambling again?” Lailu asked Hannah.
“I don’t know. None of the money has gone missing, and he says he isn’t, but . . .” Hannah shrugged. “He’s definitely up to something.”
Wren burst through the kitchen curtain, almost knocking Lailu over in her excitement, her red hair a tangled cloud around her face. “I did it! I installed it! Quick, blow out all the candles.” Then she dashed back inside the kitchen, vanishing beneath Lailu’s trapdoor into the cellar.
Lailu hesitated. You weren’t supposed to extinguish all candles during the Week of Masks. A house without candles was a house inviting in the darkness and ghosts. Feeling uneasy, Lailu moved through the room with her candlesnuffer, until only one candelabra was lit.
Hannah clapped, her eyes wide and gleaming. “This is it, Lailu, we’re in the big leagues now. Slipshod is going to be sorry he missed this. Here, let me help you.” And she blew out the remaining candles, plunging them both into darkness.
“Hannah!” A slow trembling began beneath Lailu’s feet, like she was standing near a charging hydra. She put a hand to the knife at her waist and spun, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Flash!
The dining room exploded in a burst of light. Lailu blinked rapidly to clear the floating blue spots in her vision.
“She did it!” Hannah grabbed Lailu’s hands and twirled her around in a circle. “Oh, Starling is going to be so pleased! She wasn’t sure if Wren would be able to manage this on her own.” She dropped Lailu’s hands and picked up a mask off the table near her.
A fox mask.
“Isn’t that Ryon’s?” Lailu stared at it. But no. Ryon’s was a reddish-brown color, whereas Hannah’s was silvery white, the eye sockets lined with sparkles. Lailu’s stomach filled with a mix of guilt and worry. She hadn’t seen him since he was attacked. She had barely thought of him in all the excitement lately.
Hannah adjusted the mask over her face, then shrugged into a matching white coat. “Ryon doesn’t get to be the only fox in the city,” she said, winking.
Lailu shuddered. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That whole winking thing. It’s too creepy coming from you.”
Hannah laughed. “Well, I’m off to tell Starling how it went. Don’t wait up!”
> Wren danced back into the dining room. “I did it! I really did it!” Her smile stretched from ear to ear, and despite her misgivings about all things new and scientist-related, Lailu couldn’t help but smile too. Plus she had to admit, her restaurant looked pretty amazing with several orbs descending delicately from the ceiling, casting their glow over everything.
“I’ll add a switch inside so you don’t have to go downstairs to turn them on and off,” Wren said. “And I think I can rig up a dimmer, so you won’t need to have them so bright all the time if you don’t want.”
“Thanks, Wren. You did a great job. I’m sure your mom will be proud.”
Wren’s smile wilted. “I hope so,” she said. “She’s been in a terrible mood lately.”
“Oh yeah?” Lailu thought of Carbon again, and the automatons going haywire. “I can see why. How’s Hannah been working out for her?”
“Oh, she’s been great,” Wren shrugged. “Mama only laughs when she’s around.” She scuffed her foot against the hardwood floor. “I mean, I like Hannah, I do, but does she always have to be so much in the center of everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, when she’s standing there, Mama doesn’t notice me. She does it to you, too. I’ve seen it.”
Lailu opened her mouth to argue, then remembered Vahn’s words. “She doesn’t mean to,” she said instead.
Wren shrugged. Then she brightened. “Are you free now?”
“Not exactly,” Lailu hedged. True, she didn’t have any parties to go to or dinners to cook, but their supplies were running dangerously low. “I need to go hunting tonight. I’m just waiting for Slipshod to come back.”
“Oh, he’s going to be out all night,” Wren said offhandedly.
“What? Why?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Wren blinked her wide green eyes. “He received a Royal Invitation.”
“H-he did?” And he hadn’t taken her? “He just told me he was running errands,” Lailu said. She felt like her lungs were missing air, like a griffin had just tossed her. She was his apprentice. She should have gone with him. Or at least he could have told her about it. Did everyone know but her?