by Heidi Lang
As a mystic chef, Lailu had an obligation to take out those beasts that threatened the citizens of Twin Rivers. Or sometimes she would thin out a herd, or a pack, or a swarm, so that the rest of the creatures in it would be better able to survive.
It’s not like they feel pain.
Lailu remembered Wren’s words about the elves, how they were just creatures, and shivered.
“Are you going to be serving the cockatrice tonight?” Wren asked. She looked quite bizarre in her goggles, one eye magnified much larger than the other. A blue light glowed above the smaller of the lenses, reminding Lailu eerily of Walton—who was still running free, somewhere in the city. . . .
Lailu gave herself a mental shake. “No cockatrice tonight. It won’t be safe to serve until tomorrow.”
“Aww, too bad. What are you serving tonight?”
“Apparently Master Slipshod caught some freshwater carper fish the other night. I saw them marinating in the icebox.”
“Interesting. I didn’t realize he did so much hunting without you.”
“He doesn’t. . . . Not usually.”
“Does it make you sad, being left behind so much?”
“I’m not left behind,” Lailu said, annoyed.
“Uh-huh. So . . . where is your mentor now?” Wren smiled brightly.
“I don’t know.” Lailu thought of the Royal Invitation he’d gotten, the one she apparently wasn’t supposed to know about. Maybe he was still at the palace. Her irritation turned to hurt, and she put down her knife. Maybe Wren was right, and she was being left behind. There was no denying that Master Slipshod had been distracted lately by . . . something. Something he isn’t sharing with me, she thought sadly.
“It’s okay, Lailu.” Wren patted her on the shoulder. “I understand how it feels. First Hannah, and now your mentor, too.”
Lailu had almost forgotten about Hannah and her new job, but Wren was right. How long before Hannah moved back out to Gilded Island? And it wasn’t just Hannah and Slipshod. Ryon had vanished for months before coming back. Her mom would leave, of course. Everyone would go on to bigger, better things until Lailu was left here alone. Just her and her cooking.
She pictured herself alone in the kitchen of Mystic Cooking. She used to think that was all she needed, but it seemed lonely to her now.
“I can stay, if you’d like? To help you with the restaurant today?” Wren pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. “I wouldn’t mind. It’s fun to cook with you.”
Lailu hesitated. Wren made her uncomfortable, but she was also the only one who hadn’t left her yet. Greg’s face flashed through her mind, and she realized she could count on her rivalry with him, too. He wasn’t going anywhere. The thought made her smile. “I think I’m okay,” Lailu began.
Lailu’s mother yanked back the curtain, a newspaper tucked under one arm. She wore her most colorful scarf and matching orange, yellow, and red skirt. It almost distracted the eye from the large purplish bruise across her face, a reminder of her fight with the automatons. “Why, hello, girls.” Her warm gaze seemed to take in Lailu, Wren, and the entire kitchen. “Isn’t this nice? Must have been a successful hunt.”
“Oh, it was amazing, Mrs. Loganberry,” Wren gushed. “Lailu took out a cockatrice.”
“She did what?” Lianna’s head whipped around, her eyes searching Lailu intently. Lailu recognized the look: her mom was checking her over for injuries.
Lailu grimaced. “I’m not hurt, Mom. Just a couple scrapes and bruises. And it wasn’t really me—”
“Yes, right through the eye with a knife throw. Can you believe it?” Wren continued, talking right over Lailu. “The cockatrice went ‘Bleh!’ and fell over dead.”
“That’s not exactly how it went,” Lailu began, with a sideways look at Wren.
“Yeah, it didn’t actually say ‘Bleh,’ ” Wren agreed.
Lailu frowned but didn’t correct her again. Maybe Wren felt bad about killing it.
“That’s surprising,” Lianna said. “I didn’t think you could kill a cockatrice with a normal knife.” She glanced at Lailu. “Don’t look so shocked, honey. You’ve been talking about strengths and weaknesses in these beasts for years, and I pay attention.”
“When you’re around, maybe.” Lailu wasn’t sure why she said it; she just knew she was tired of the way everyone found it so easy to leave her behind, and the words escaped her lips like noodles slipping off a spoon.
Her mom’s eyes widened.
“It was my first real hunt,” Wren continued, oblivious to the way the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “I learned so much and—”
“That all does sound exciting,” Lianna cut her off. “It also sounds like Lailu could use some rest before the dinner crowd arrives. Can I help you pack up your stuff, Wren?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can pack it myself.” Wren went right on working.
Lianna pursed her lips, and Lailu realized her mother had no idea how literally Wren took people’s words.
“Wren, I think my mother was trying to politely ask you to go.”
“Really?” Wren asked.
“Some quality mother-daughter time,” Lianna said. “I’m sure you understand.”
Wren flinched. “Maybe someday I will,” she said sadly.
Lailu’s heart ached. “Or, you know, if you’d like to stick around—”
“You can come back and visit us later,” Lianna finished quickly. “But we need some time alone now. I’m sorry.”
Wren packed up her tools and left, promising to return tomorrow to finish the installation.
Lianna waited until the front door was shut and Wren’s auto-carriage had roared away before turning back to Lailu, her expression solemn.
Lailu braced herself. This was it. This was the moment when she would tell her mom everything. All those mornings back home when she would slip out of her bedroom and feel the stillness of the house and know that once again, her mother had left. The way her father would retreat into his workroom, the sound of her brother Lonnie crying softly, while her oldest brother Laurent acted like nothing was wrong at all. How her mother’s absence created a hole inside their home, a cavity that kept the rest of them separated.
Lailu swallowed. “I—” she began.
“So what really happened on your hunt?” Lianna asked.
“Um, er, well . . . ,” Lailu fumbled. It felt like the griffin hunt all over again—like she was poised to strike and just . . . couldn’t. Instead the truth of the hunt came tumbling out, the use of mal-cantation powder and the way Wren had been the one to make the kill. And Lailu let the other truths slide back under the surface.
“Mal-cantation powder,” Lianna mused, tapping the newspaper into the palm of her hand. “Hmm.”
“Is it important that Wren was the one to kill the cockatrice?” Lailu asked.
“All details are important, my sweet.” Lianna unfolded the newspaper and dropped it in front of Lailu. One headline jumped out immediately:
Elf Found Dead in Warehouse District
Lailu felt like all the air in her lungs had turned to jelly. She sank to the floor, clutching the paper, her eyes moving down the article automatically.
Gwendyl, age 237, was discovered dead in the Warehouse District. Cause of death could not immediately be determined, although there does not appear to have been a struggle. As of this printing, there has been no response from the elves.
(story continued on page 3)
Lailu looked up. “What does this mean?” she whispered.
Lianna knelt in front of Lailu. “Oh, honey, you know what this means. The scientists have a powder that neutralizes magic. That knocks out magical creatures.” She brushed a strand of hair from Lailu’s forehead.
Lailu swallowed. “So they did this.” Of course they did. But why? Were they experimenting on elven blood again? “If the elves find proof . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Even without proof,” Lianna sighed, “it will mean wa
r.”
War. Lailu thought of the Western Travel District, which had never recovered from the last war the elves waged. She dropped the paper on the floor, her fingers numb.
31
LAILU’S BAD MOOD
Lailu managed to get a couple hours of sleep, but her dreams were full of Eirad’s chilly blue eyes and Wren’s darkened goggles. The words It will mean war circled through her head over and over until finally she woke up. She lay there, the afternoon light stabbing in through her window, her whole body so tired and heavy she felt like a slab of meat.
A slab of meat that was tired of being dragged around, that was tired of all these things happening around her, pulling her in, taking her away from the one thing that mattered: becoming the best master chef in the land. Lailu scowled, suddenly irritated. Irritated with the scientists for starting all this drama with the elves in the first place, and the elves for being so sneaky and tricky, and Slipshod for not telling her anything, and her mother. Her mother most of all, for deciding to visit now, and only because Lord Elister asked her to.
Lailu closed her eyes, remembering her graduation day. Her family had traveled for days to make it in time. As Lailu walked across the giant dining room the Chef Academy used for their large ceremonies, she had felt so proud, she’d thought she might float. Master Sanford had shaken her hand and told her big things were in store for her. And then she’d turned and noticed her father. And her brothers.
But her mother was nowhere to be seen.
“She couldn’t make it out,” her father had told her. “You know how she is.”
Lailu opened her eyes. She knew exactly how she was. She had to remember that. Her mom might be here now, but she’d be gone again the moment Lailu started to rely on her.
Being cranky felt better than being scared, so Lailu wrapped that around herself like a second skin and stomped downstairs.
She could hear Slipshod and her mother talking in the kitchen, and her foul mood grew even fouler. Apparently they’d both decided to actually stick around for once. Maybe today Slipshod would at least finally tell her what he was up to. She kicked open the door.
“Pigtails!” he barked. “Finally! Where the blazes have you been?”
Lailu’s scowl deepened. He was just standing there in the kitchen, stirring a pot, acting like he’d never left. Like he hadn’t been off cooking for the king and leaving her behind. “Where have I been? Where the blazes have you been?”
“Language,” her mother said.
Lailu shot her a glare. “He said it first.”
“He’s allowed to, sweetie. He’s an adult.”
“I’m a master chef!”
“You’re an apprentice still, dear,” Lianna reminded her.
“Don’t you have somewhere you should be disappearing off to?” Lailu snapped.
Lianna dropped the pan she was holding, and even Slipshod looked shocked. Lailu felt like swallowing those words back up immediately, but it was too late.
Lailu looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Because despite how true those words were, she still felt terrible for saying them.
“It’s okay. I know how you get when you’re tired. I’ll just . . . I’ll be outside. If you need me.” Lianna swept out of the kitchen.
Slipshod shook his head. “Very unlike you, Pigtails.”
Lailu narrowed her eyes, remembering Wren’s words. He’s been hunting without you. Didn’t you hear? He got a Royal Invitation. And suddenly she didn’t feel bad anymore. She just felt angry. “Of course you’d take her side. You’re also a fan of skipping out and leaving me behind.”
Slipshod opened and closed his mouth several times. “Well, I can see someone is determined to have no friends today. And here I was about to invite you to come with me to the palace for dinner.”
Lailu blinked. “You were what?”
“I got a Royal Invitation yesterday. I wanted us to hunt and prepare for it last night, but you were gone. Speaking of people skipping out.” Slipshod’s eyebrows drew together in a dark, disapproving line.
“I thought . . . I thought you were cooking for them yesterday.” Lailu felt like the whole room had shifted on her.
“Without you?”
Lailu nodded.
Slipshod’s expression softened. “Pigtails, I promise I was not cooking for the king last night without my favorite apprentice.” Then his scowl returned. “Of course, today you’re only the favorite by process of elimination.”
Lailu couldn’t argue with that. “Sorry.”
“Apology accepted. And, truth be told, I have been a little . . . absent, as of late. I have some irons in the fire right now. But soon we’ll have to sit down and have a good chat.”
“About what?” Lailu asked, anxiety replacing her earlier surge of anger. Any time someone wanted to “sit down and have a good chat,” it meant something terrible was coming. Otherwise they would just say it.
“We’ll talk later. Right now, we have to finish getting ready for the king.” Slipshod grinned, any trace of his earlier disapproval vanishing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to say those words, Pigtails. A very long time.” He stood straighter, and Lailu noticed how clean his hair was, and . . . by the gods! He’d gotten it cut! She gaped at him. “But first, don’t you think it’s time you talked to your mother?”
Lailu’s thoughts on Slipshod’s hair vanished beneath a fresh wave of irritation. “I’ve been talking to her,” she grumbled.
Slipshod sighed. “It’s none of my business what you do, Pigtails, but I know there’s only so long you can keep a lid on a boiling pot before it spills over. Think about it.”
Lailu remembered all those times at home when she swallowed her words, choked down her anger. And then this past week, all the moments when she wanted to confront her mother but didn’t, and then all the little bitter words that managed to slip out anyway.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she should just talk to her mother, really talk to her. After all, she’d gone deep into the heart of a swamp to take down a hydra. She should be able to handle a tough conversation. Right?
She found her mom sitting on the edge of the well in back, gazing out toward the Velvet Forest. “M-Mom?” Lailu called.
Lianna turned. For once she wasn’t smiling, her hazel eyes very serious.
Lailu swallowed. She would prefer the hydra. She would prefer a hundred hydra. But it was time to stop putting this off. What could her mom do? Leave again? She was going to leave eventually anyway. “I’m sorry for what I said before,” Lailu began slowly, her voice small and shaky, “but you do disappear. You leave all the time. And it hurts.” She made herself look into her mother’s eyes. “When you vanish without even saying goodbye, it hurts Lonnie and Laurent, and Dad. And it hurts me.”
“Oh, honey.” Lianna reached for Lailu like she wanted to hold her, but then dropped her hand. “But you know I’ll always come back.”
Lailu sniffed. “When I was little, I didn’t want a mother who would come back. I wanted a mother who cared enough to stay in the first place. But you didn’t.” Her vision blurred, tears trickling down her face, but she let them fall and for once didn’t try to pretend they were something else. “Coming back is not the same as being there.”
Lianna was quiet for a long moment, her brow furrowed. Then she let out a breath. “I’m sorry, my little one, my Lailu. I’ve always had a restless spirit. I never planned to stay in one place or fall in love. I never thought I’d have children.”
Lailu flinched. It was more painful than putting her hand on a hot stove. She shouldn’t have come out here. All this time, and it was her fault her mother kept leaving. Because she didn’t want her.
“I said that badly,” Lianna said.
“N-no. You were honest.” Lailu sniffed again. “For once, you told me the truth.” She wiped a hand across her face. She couldn’t see anything now, and she felt so heavy, like everything inside was breaking and turning to lead.
&n
bsp; “No, sweetie, that was only half the truth. I never thought I’d have children, but then I met your father, and I had you and your brothers, and I’m so glad.” Lianna took Lailu’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “I’m glad I had you. But traveling . . . it’s part of who I am. I would never ask you to give up your cooking. That’s who you are. You can love a dragon, but you can’t make it stop flying.”
Lailu pulled her hands free. “But maybe the dragon would be willing to stay on the ground if it loved you back enough,” she said sadly.
Lianna’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t respond, and Lailu turned and walked back to the safety of her restaurant.
Once the door shut behind her, she sank to the ground, put her head in her hands, and cried. Each sob tore through her, leaving her weak and gasping and raw inside. She cried for her brothers, for her father. She even cried for her mother, who longed to be free but kept coming back to the cage her family had created for her. But mostly, she cried for herself, for all the times she’d been left behind, for all the nights she’d been abandoned, for every moment she’d wished her mother was there with her. Eventually, she had no more tears left.
Lailu stood, her joints achy, her eyes swollen. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and headed upstairs to get ready. It didn’t matter if her heart was broken; she had a king to cook for. And at least cooking was the one thing that would never let her down.
The carriage bounded smoothly over cobblestones as it followed along one of the Dancing Rivers. Sunlight reflected off the water, all pink and golden, the promise of a few short hours of light left before the festivities would truly begin.
Lailu picked at the purple velvet of her seat. She wanted to enjoy the view, but her mind kept wandering around a maze of questions: Why did Wren tell her Master Slipshod was cooking for the king without her? Had she just gotten the details mixed up? Or . . . was she lying? But why? She had to know how abandoned and awful that had made Lailu feel. Lailu purposely avoided thinking about her conversation with her mother. She couldn’t. Not right now. She didn’t want to start crying again.