by Heidi Lang
“Um, who is this?” Greg’s eyebrows were practically invisible in his thick, curly hair, and his arms and shoulders had gone stiff.
“Ryon, at your service.” Ryon held out a hand, and Greg reluctantly took it, wincing as the other boy pumped his arm up and down enthusiastically. “And you must be the infamous Gregorian LaSilvian. I’ve heard all about you. None of it good.” Greg managed to free his hand as Ryon leaned in closer. “Most of it came from Lailu, you see,” he stage-whispered.
“Stop fooling around,” Lailu said. “Greg, Ryon here is . . . well. Sort of a friend.”
“Sort of? I’m hurt.”
“You will be,” Lailu muttered.
“Easy there, tiger,” Ryon said. “I just came to warn you.”
“Warn me? Warn me about what?”
Ryon glanced at Greg. “Is it safe to talk freely? I mean, in front of the bystander?”
“I’m not a bystander.” If anything, Greg’s shoulders grew even more tense, and he wore a very Lailu-esque scowl.
Lailu sighed and rubbed her temples. Ryon and Greg were both annoying enough individually. Who’d have known they could be even worse combined? “You can talk freely. Greg is helping me.”
“Very generous of him.” Somehow the way Ryon said it, it didn’t seem like a compliment. Greg’s scowl deepened, but before he had a chance to respond, Ryon continued, “Mr. Boss is going to stop by tonight for the money you owe him.”
“What?” Lailu’s knees gave out, and suddenly she was sitting on the floor. “He can’t. I should still have five more days! He has to know there’s no way I have his money yet.”
“He knows you might have it soon.”
“What?”
Ryon pulled a slip of glossy paper from his coat pocket and held it out. Lailu took it, reading the elegant writing stamped across in bold letters:
Coming soon to Mystic Cooking: Dragon cuisine! Dine better than royalty, but only for a day. Exclusive offer open to the first fifty people to come to the restaurant. Priced at twenty gold crowns a person.
“Wow, nice advertisements.” Greg took the paper from Lailu and studied it. “Very nice.”
“Hannah had them made.”
“Isn’t he your competition?” Ryon asked, snatching the paper back from Greg. “Don’t go showing all your business secrets or he might copy them again.”
“Hey! That’s hardly fair—” Greg began.
Ryon crouched in front of Lailu, ignoring Greg. “They’re all over the city,” he said, tucking her advertisement back inside his coat pocket. Greg fumed silently behind him. “And I must say, they’re creating quite the buzz. I have a feeling you’re going to have a packed house tomorrow.”
“If I live that long.” Lailu buried her hands in her hair, her face pressed against her knees. She felt like the world was spinning without her, and the only thing keeping her here was this gnawing feeling of dread filling her stomach. There was no way the elves would clear her debt with Mr. Boss tonight, even if she did win the bet. “Why is Mr. Boss coming this evening, then? Why not wait until after that?”
“Because he doesn’t want you to have his money.”
Lailu stared up at Ryon. “That hardly makes sense.”
“Oh, it makes plenty of sense. He doesn’t want you to clear your debts. He never wanted you to.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re his golden ticket. An academy-trained master chef? If you fail to clear your debts, you’ll be in his pocket forever, and he’ll be able to use you however he wants. It would destroy you, but it might save him.”
“Save him? From what?” Greg asked, trying to nudge himself into the conversation.
“Mostly himself,” Ryon said. “He’s had a few deals backfire, and a lot of his supporters have left him, including the scientists. I think . . .” He took a deep breath. “I think it’s made him a little unhinged. Meanwhile, his health is not good. Honestly, he looks like a corpse. A seriously-in-debt corpse.”
“Have you seen Vahn lately?” Lailu asked suddenly, her brain working feverishly. It sounded like Ryon hadn’t made the connection yet between the elf blood and Mr. Boss’s “health” elixir.
“No, not for a while. Why? Did he find something?”
“Doubtful,” Greg muttered under his breath.
Lailu hesitated. If Vahn hadn’t found Ryon by now, that meant he was probably still stuck in the Industrial District. It had been an awfully long time. Was he still all right? She tried not to imagine him caught and held prisoner—or worse. No. Vahn could do anything. She knew he would be fine. Spending a whole day and night in some weird Industrial building wouldn’t hurt a man who could stop a pack of vibbers without breaking a sweat.
And even though he had told her to send Ryon to him next time he showed up, she decided to wait. It made her feel squirmy on the inside, but if she told Ryon where Vahn was now, then the elves might never know that Mr. Boss was behind their disappearances. She needed them to know.
Squashing down her anxiety, she made her decision. “Ryon, I know where the missing elves are.”
“You what?” Ryon straightened. “Where are they? How?”
“I . . . I can’t tell you where they are. Not yet.”
He frowned. “Lailu—”
“No, listen. You want to find them, but you also want to catch the person responsible too, right?”
Ryon hesitated, then nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.
Lailu let out a breath. “Vahn is with the elves, I think. And I’ll tell you where they are, but first I need you to get Mr. Boss to come to my restaurant right now.” She couldn’t work for Mr. Boss, she just couldn’t. She needed the elves to catch him. She had to trust that Vahn would be okay on his own a little longer.
Ryon studied her, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll trust you. Just don’t make me regret it.” He gave her his hand and helped her stand up. “Nice hair, by the way.”
Lailu’s hands flew to the mess she’d made of her pigtails, and she hurriedly straightened them.
“It sounds like the elves are almost here,” Ryon said.
“What?” Lailu felt like the floor was tipping beneath her.
“You can hear them?” Greg asked.
“I have very good ears,” Ryon said. “I’m going to sneak out the back again, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer your other guests not see me here right now.” He gave Lailu a hard look. “I’ll hurry back with Mr. Boss, but I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I,” Lailu whispered as Ryon vanished outside.
All was silent in her kitchen, aside from the bubbling, steaming, cooking dragon. “Not sure I liked that guy. He seemed . . . shifty,” Greg said finally.
Lailu glared at him.
“But of course, what would I know? I’m just your assistant.” He picked up a large wooden spoon, then glanced at her over his shoulder. “I may not understand everything that’s going on with you at the moment, but I promise it’s going to be okay, Lailu. You know that, right?”
Lailu nodded. She didn’t know that, but one way or another, at least things would be over with tonight.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then went back into the dining room of Mystic Cooking.
32
A FAVOR
Elister, Starling, and the bodyguards looked up. “Ah, Lailu,” Elister said pleasantly. “Starling and I were wondering how much longer before you would be ready to serve dinner. Chess always works up an appetite.”
“I, too, am excited about this dinner.” Starling smiled and patted her stomach. “I know we just ate, but one can never have too much dragon.”
“D-dinner will be ready soon.” Lailu swallowed. “But the group that I closed the restaurant for is going to be here shortly. So it might become a bit crowded in here.”
Elister raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “And whose company will we be graced with?”
“The elves,” she squeaked, and coughed to clear her throat. “The elve
s,” she repeated.
Elister’s other brow rose. “The elves? How many?”
“Around twenty.”
“Twenty of the elves.” Elister gazed across the table at Starling, who kept her face unreadable. “Well, that should be interesting.”
Lailu thought interesting was hardly the word.
“Do you need us to leave, then?” Elister asked.
Lailu’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Would he really make it that easy for her? She started to say yes, but his eyes grew cold again, and she realized there was only one right answer here. “Of course not, sir,” she forced herself to say, her lips stretching in what she hoped was a smile. “I have enough room for all of you.”
Elister’s eyes warmed up. “Very good, very good,” he said. “I must admit, I’m looking forward to eating more of your dragon cuisine.”
Lailu nodded, trying to hide her pained expression. “Well, sir, I’d better go check on the food.” She inched back toward the safety of the kitchen.
“Wait a moment,” Elister said.
Lailu froze.
“Before your other guests arrive, tell me, did you learn anything of interest from Mr. Boss? As I recall, we had ourselves a bit of a deal.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lailu could see Starling clutch the edge of her seat. And no wonder, if she was helping Mr. Boss kidnap elves to experiment with their blood. Surely Elister would find that information interesting enough.
But then Starling would definitely tell Elister about Lailu’s trip to the Crow’s Nest. She didn’t want to find out how he’d react to that bit of news. And the elves, when they found out, when Elister told them about Starling . . . what would they do to Wren? Lailu had to keep her promise. Besides, Starling wasn’t her enemy. Mr. Boss, on the other hand . . .
“Actually, sir, I just discovered something very interesting,” Lailu said, making up her mind. If Elister knew about Mr. Boss’s involvement, maybe he would support her against the loan shark if things went sour tonight.
“Oh?”
“You’ve heard about the missing elves?”
“I have.”
“Well, Mr. Boss knows where they are.”
Starling gasped. Elister didn’t take his eyes off Lailu. “Does he, now?”
“Yes. He’s been drinking an elixir made from their blood. A life elixir, only I don’t think it’s working too well.”
“No. No, it wouldn’t be,” Elister mused. Across from him Starling had recovered her composure, her posture very casual. “I do wonder, though, who would be making this elixir for him. It hardly seems like something our dear loan shark would be capable of creating on his own.” He glanced at Starling. If anything, her posture became even more casual.
Elister smiled, and turned back to Lailu. “How did you find this out?”
“I have my sources,” Lailu supplied bravely.
Elister laughed. “Don’t we all. Well, then. Where are they?”
Lailu summoned all her courage. “I was hoping you could ask Mr. Boss that when he shows up tonight.”
Elister’s laughter faded, and he studied Lailu with an intensity that made her want to squirm right out of her skin. Had she gone too far? But then he nodded. “I see. Clever girl. But I believe you should be the one to ask him.”
The bell above the door chimed, and the first elf stepped inside, stopping at the sight of Elister, Starling, and the two bodyguards. His pale eyes narrowed. “What’s this?”
Lailu took in his height and those long golden braids. “What’s what?” Lailu replied obstinately. Of all the elves she’d met, she disliked this one the most.
“Eirad, calm yourself,” Fahr said as he entered the room, his long dark hair glossy in the lamplight. “It’s just Elister.” He strode forward. “Elister, my friend. How good to see you again.”
“Fahr.” Elister stood to shake the elf’s hand. “I’m not sure if you’ve met the lovely Starling Volan?”
Starling did not stand up, and Fahr’s smile faltered. “Not formally, no,” Fahr said. “Merely from a distance.”
Starling’s expression made it clear that this distance hadn’t been far enough.
“Oh, good.” Elister nodded pleasantly as if the temperature in the room had not just dropped twenty degrees. “We can all sit together, then. I hope you don’t mind us crashing your party? Lailu mentioned she was serving you all dragon cuisine, and I must admit, I could hardly leave after hearing that.”
“Understandable.” Fahr’s gray-blue eyes remained fixed on Starling’s stoic face. After a moment he looked away, finding Lailu hiding in the corner near the kitchen. “So, shall we just move some tables together?”
“Oh, of course. I’ll take care of that for you.” As she started dragging the first table, Greg came out of the kitchen, his brown eyes widening at the sight of the elves still pouring in. Without a word, he picked up the other end of her table.
After the elves were all seated, Lailu and Greg slipped back into the kitchen. “I’ll set the tables,” Greg whispered. “You finish preparing the food. It’s pretty much done, but I thought you might want to check it. I tried keeping everything to your normal tastes, but . . .” He shrugged. Lailu understood; Greg had his own peculiar ideas about seasonings.
“You don’t have to stay,” Lailu told him, even as her stomach clenched at the idea of facing this crowd alone.
“Are you kidding me? They’d eat you alive out there.”
Lailu thrust out her chin. “I’d be fine.” Her defiance melted a little. “But if you want to stay,” she mumbled, “I wouldn’t mind the help.”
“What was that?”
“I said you could stay, if you wanted,” Lailu repeated, still mumbling and staring at the tops of her shiny black boots.
“I’m sorry, I thought I heard a ‘Thank you, Greg’ somewhere in there.”
Lailu scowled, and Greg grinned from ear to ear in response. Taking a deep breath, Lailu forced herself to say it. “Thank you, Greg.”
His smile widened even further, showing off his straight white teeth in a way Vahn would be proud of. “You’re welcome, Lailu.”
She hesitated, then blurted out, “Why are you helping me?”
Greg’s smile wilted. “What?”
“I said, why are you helping me?”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. She could hear the elves chattering outside as they waited for the meal that would decide her future.
Greg ran a hand through his curly brown hair. “Lailu, after all this time . . .” He dropped his hand and looked at her. “We’re friends.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are,” he said firmly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it, you know I’ve got your back, and I know, well, that you’d probably like to stab a knife into mine . . .” He paused. “This is not a very even friendship, now that I think about it.”
“It’s not a friendship at all!” Lailu didn’t want to be friends with Greg, with his successful, fancy business and successful, fancy family. It was much easier to dislike him. Only lately . . . lately he’d helped her out a lot. Were they becoming friends? Lailu’s mind whirled at the idea. Friends with Greg. Friends with the boy who’d tormented her all through school, who had everything so easy.
Greg picked up his chef’s hat from the counter. “Fine, then.”
Lailu’s anger and confusion evaporated, replaced by worry. “You’re not . . . I mean, are you leaving?”
Greg paused, then jammed his hat on over his unruly hair. “No, I’ll stay,” he decided, turning away from her and getting out the place settings from the cupboard in back. “But after this is over . . .”
“Yes?”
“You’ll owe me a favor.”
Lailu’s stomach twisted, but she could hardly deny it. She tried not to picture the kinds of favors Greg might call her in for. At least it was a problem for another day.
33
DRAGON CUISINE
Lailu paced back and forth as the empty plates piled up and her front door remained stubbornly closed. What was taking Ryon so long? At least the elves seemed to be enjoying her meal.
Then she spotted Eirad jabbing at his food and muttering, and Lailu felt like the world was slowing down around her. Of course he’d be the dissatisfied one. He caught her eye, and in one sharp motion swiped his index finger across his neck, then pointed at her. Lailu gulped.
“Everything okay?” Greg asked. “Your face is whiter than your hat.”
“I don’t think they all like it.”
“Nonsense. They love it.” He gave her a reassuring smile, but he couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. “Anything else I can do to help?”
“Can you get the dessert wines out of my cellar?”
“Now?”
“I don’t want them to have to wait.” She told Greg how to get into her cellar and then watched as he disappeared behind her curtain.
CRASH!
Lailu’s front door slammed open so hard it took the bell with it. Silence fell thick and heavy as everyone stopped eating and turned toward the door.
“Chef!” Mr. Boss stomped inside, flanked by the Butcher and Ryon. “I’m here for my money!” He didn’t seem to notice the watching elves, only Lailu, his face twisted in a horrifying grimace of rage and pain. He looked awful, with deep, dark hollows under his eyes, dry and cracking lips, and patches of flaking grayish skin. What was left of his hair no longer lay oiled carefully back but instead stuck out around his head, and his expensive clothes hung limply on his frame like they were concealing a skeleton.
“Uh, Victor,” the Butcher whispered at Mr. Boss’s elbow. “Maybe we should come back later.” He wore a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, and the wound on his neck had just started to scab. He glared at Lailu, and she shivered at the promise of revenge written across his face.
“My money, my money.” Mr. Boss pulled away from the Butcher, his lips curled back from his crumbling teeth. “You don’t have it, do you? You’ve failed, you’ve failed, and now you’re mine!” He did a little jig, and Lailu found herself taking a step back, terrified by the madness in front of her.