Charming (Exiled Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  “In your dreams,” Charming said.

  Ana sat down on her stool again. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or horrified by what just happened. No cookies are that good.”

  Charming looked at her, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You underestimate your cookies, Ana. Once people taste these, you’d better make sure you always have enough on hand or riots might break out.”

  She flushed prettily, not used to being complimented. “It’s just cookies,” she said quietly.

  He leaned closer. “It’s more. It’s you doing something wonderful with your day.”

  Like magnets, his eyes drew her in and made her lean toward him.

  “How was your day?” She regretted the question instantly when he winced and berated herself for being masterful at mood killing. “That bad, huh?”

  He nodded and looked away when Scar set a large bowl of chicken and dumplings in front of him.

  “Here,” Scar said. “Since you didn’t get to eat all the cookies after all, I thought you’d need a bigger helping.” Scar gave him a menacing smile and walked away slinging a damp bar towel over his shoulder.

  “Yeah. You’d better keep walking.”

  The unusual sound of Scar’s booming laughter made everybody at the bar stop and look up.

  As usual Charming went back to work after he ate. Ana spent the rest of her evening making a list of things necessary for efficient cookie baking then went to bed feeling good about herself and her new life. Joey and Ernesto were worlds away. She could reinvent herself. And be anybody she wanted to be.

  Ana was passing the time waiting for Scar to arrive by observing what the lunch crew was doing in the kitchen.

  “Who decides on the menu for the day?” she asked Moonlight.

  “I decide what soup I want to make. Able decides what entrees he wants to make, which dictates sauces and gravies for me.”

  “How do you know they’re going to go together?”

  “Go together?” she repeated.

  “Well, yeah. Like onion soup would go with flank steak, but not with chicken and dumplings.”

  Able had picked up on part of the conversation and drifted over to join in. He exchanged a look with Moonlight.

  “I guess we hadn’t thought about that. So you’re saying we should talk to each other and make choices together?”

  Ana tried to keep her expression neutral when she nodded her head, but she was more than surprised that they weren’t already doing that. “Yes. You could even do theme days.”

  “Theme days?” Able said.

  “Okay. Here’s an example. Who buys the produce?”

  “Bowman.”

  “So Bowman gets a deal on a load of beautiful onions on Thursday, for instance. Friday you plan to offer cube steak with an onion dip, onion soup, flank steak smothered in onions and gravy, and onion rings with all the sandwiches. Then you put a blackboard sign outside on the sidewalk that says, ‘Country Fresh Onion Day’.”

  Scar had lingered just outside the kitchen and listened to Ana’s thoughts on future menus. When she finished talking, he walked in.

  “You’ve got a lot of ideas, little girl.”

  “I need to find out where to go to get the stuff I need for cookies, how many you want me to make, and don’t call me little girl. It’s dismissive.”

  “It’s not dismissive,” Scar said with the ghost of a smile. “It’s affectionate.”

  She gave him a blank look. “How did you get your name?”

  “My office,” was all he said.

  Scar’s office was just big enough for a desk, piled two feet high with papers, and a small chair for guests. Ana sat in the guest chair, but could barely see over the stacking system. So she moved the chair to the side of his desk after he plopped down and drove the air out of his seat cushion with a hiss.

  “Now…” he began.

  “You were telling me how you got your name.”

  “No. I wasn’t.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Another time then. About the cookies.”

  “Make a list of the stuff you need and Bowman will go get it.”

  “Fine. Now about operations.”

  “Operations,” he repeated, looking amused. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

  “If people are going to fight over cookies, I’m thinking it’s serious.”

  Scar chuckled. “We were just having fun.”

  “So you said. I learned from Charlie and his crew… those are the people at the bakery, that I can make the cookie dough ahead of time and refrigerate it until we’re ready to bake. That’ll help with oven scheduling, but I’m going to need space in the cooler. I’ll also need to claim a dedicated corner of the kitchen.”

  “Dedicated,” he said without emotion.

  “Yes. I figure that, if I come in at the same time as the lunch crew and start baking with the pre-prepared dough right away, I’ll be finished with the ovens by the time they need them for entrees. That way we can share ovens without disrupting the routine and there’ll be fresh warm cookies for lunch. What do you think?”

  Scar stared at her for a couple of beats. “Make it work.”

  “Good. I’ll give my list to Bowman. If he gets back early enough, I’ll make cookie dough today and bake tomorrow morning.”

  He studied Ana, trying to determine her angle. Employees didn’t usually bring much enthusiasm to the job and especially not when money hadn’t even been mentioned. But her excitement was so infectious it almost drew another rare smile out of Scar. When she got up to leave, he said, “I’m not giving you a piece of the business.”

  She stopped, hand still on the doorknob. “I didn’t know that was open for negotiation.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Then why’d you bring it up?”

  “Because you’re running around here acting like you own the place.”

  “Oh.” She seemed lost in thought for a second. “Since training went quicker than expected, I’m on the clock since I started yesterday morning at four. Right?”

  Leaning back, he clasped his hands in front of his torso and said, “Right,” still looking amused.

  “Okay. Later.”

  “Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how many you’re going to make and how much we’re going to charge.”

  Ana frowned. “I don’t know how much to charge.”

  “I suspected as much. Let’s say you’re going to bake a hundred cookies. I need to know how much we spent on the ingredients for a hundred cookies. After I have that, I’ll factor in the cost of buying the equipment , running the oven and paying you.”

  “Since Bowman bought the stuff, I don’t know how much it costs.”

  “Ask him.” She nodded. “Let me know tomorrow before we put cookies up for sale so I know how much to charge.” She nodded again.

  “Where’s Bowman?” she asked Moonlight.

  “Hasn’t finished fulfilling your list yet.”

  “Okay.” She walked over to Abel. “Can I watch what you’re doing?”

  Abel gave her a warm smile and Moonlight laughed. “Males always love to have females watch what they’re doing. None of them would ever say no to that question.”

  Abel gave Ana a good-natured smirk. “Of course you can, lovely. I’m ladling a goose brandy reduction sauce onto this chicken. If you ever want to know, Moon can show you all about reduction sauces.”

  “Smells heavenly. That’s what I’m having for dinner tonight.” She looked at Moonlight. “And I do want to learn about reduction sauces. I want to learn how to do everything you do.”

  “Well, if you learn everything as fast as you learned how to bake cookies, that should take until about three o’clock tomorrow,” Moon said. “Because he doesn’t know that much.” She jerked her head toward Abel.

  Abel shook his head and laughed while Ana decided she liked the camaraderie in the steamy kitchen.

  An hour lat
er Bowman came through the back door with clashes and clatters. “This is the last of it,” he said. “Rolling racks for your cookie sheets. I assembled them in the alley because there wasn’t enough room to do it in here. Now where are we going to keep them?”

  All five members of the kitchen crew looked around. Brook strolled over to the walk-in freezer and opened the door. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the only space we’ve got.”

  “But every time we want something from the freezer, we’ll have to roll the racks out first, get what we need, then put them back,” said Bowman.

  “Yeah. It’s a downside for sure,” said Brook. “But I don’t see another solution.”

  “I say we make a deal with boss man.”

  “You mean Scar?” Moonlight asked.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “What deal?” She was curious.

  “If the cookies bomb, the racks go in the alley and he takes the hit as a cost of doing business.”

  “And you lose your job,” Abel said.

  Ana frowned, but agreed. “Yeah, probably. But if the cookies are a hit, then he needs to find a way to expand the kitchen to accommodate the baking section. After all it was his idea. He said if we were going to serve cookies, we’re going to make them ourselves or something like that.”

  “That sounds fair,” said Bowman. “How could he turn that down?”

  Moonlight gaped. “Have you met Scar? This is Scar we’re talking about.”

  Brook snorted.

  “It will work if we all stand united. Like a union,” Ana said.

  “What’s a union?” Abel asked.

  “It’s when labor, that’s us, organizes to get a better deal from the person or people who own the company you work for.”

  “I love that idea. If we all pile on, we can take him.” Brook was nodding, clearly all in.

  “No. We’re not going to overcome management physically. We’re going to out-reason him. Adding a baking section to a kitchen that doesn’t have room for it creates a hardship for everybody,” Ana was beginning to preach.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a hardship,” Moonlight interjected.

  “An inconvenience then,” Ana corrected.

  “I think taking him down is the best idea,” Brook added.

  Ana stared at her for a second before deciding the best choice was ignoring the comment.

  “Okay. So who’s going to ask Scar to listen to our demands?” Suddenly everyone turned away and was looking very busy. “Come on. Really? I thought you guys were supposed to be fierce fighters.”

  Bowman dropped his fangs and growled.

  “Yeah!” Ana cried. “That’s the spirit. Go tell him, Bowman.”

  Bowman left his fangs extended, stopped growling, and shook his head vigorously.

  “We are fierce fighters,” said Brook. “But you don’t want us to fight. You want us to talk. Those are two different things.”

  Ana gave them all a look of disgust. “I guess it’s a job for the lowly weak human then. Will you all at least back me up if I can get him in here?”

  They looked at each other, seemed to have a telepathic conversation, and nodded their heads.

  Three minutes later Scar was standing in the kitchen. “Alright. What’s this about?” He spread his feet apart and crossed his massive arms over his chest which made him look even more intimidating than usual.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Charming stood on the periphery of the new investigation, glad he didn’t have a weak stomach. So far at least one cop had thrown up at each and every crime scene. It was that gruesome, gory enough to make hardened men lose their lunches.

  This one held several factors in common with the other murders. The victim was a young human male in his late teens. His ID said he was a student at Grosvener Graduate, which meant he was smart and on track for a noteworthy career. He was killed sometime between midnight and five in the morning near the park. The crime was committed on a side street lined with townhouses, but the thunderstorms would have covered any noise the poor devil made. It also would have kept people indoors and out of the way.

  Charming looked around. When Detective Crowley noticed him, he walked over and shook hands.

  “Wonder what he was doing out in the middle of the night in the rain?” Charming said, thinking out loud. “It rained so hard, I’m sure it washed away blood, maybe evidence as well.”

  “Given his age and gender, I’d say it was probably something related to a girl.”

  Crowley’s partner, Hogshead, smirked.

  Charming thought it was inappropriate to smirk about something related to a death, but he also thought that anyone named Hogshead had no room to smirk about anything.

  “This one is even more brutal,” Crowley said. “Strictly closed casket stuff.” He shook his head and grabbed the back of his neck with a meaty hand. In a lowered voice he said, “We’re not getting anywhere. We’ve concentrated patrols around the park and in the education district, but we can’t touch this guy. He’s a ghost.”

  “With fangs.” Hogshead was looking at Charming with a challenge in his tone when he said it.

  “I take it you have no doubt the killer is hybrid then.”

  Hogshead snorted. “What does it look like, Leader?” The word ‘Leader’ was dripping with both sarcasm and revulsion.

  “Detective,” Crowley said in a warning tone. To Charming he said, “In an effort to make sure nothing’s left untried, I’ve asked one of the Criminal Justice professors to come take a look. It can’t hurt and he just might think of something we’ve missed.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Charming said.

  “That’s him now.” Crowley waved to somebody behind Charming.

  When Charming turned around to get a look, he saw a man in his mid-sixties, tall with a full head of white hair, accompanied by none other than Dread.

  “Professor Beech,” Crowley said. “This is Charming. You know my partner already.”

  “Yes,” said Beech. He shook hands with Charming. “This is one of my students. As you once were,” he said smiling at Crowley. “I should amend that. He’s my best student actually. His name is Dread.”

  “A hybrid studying police work?” Hogshead said, both eyebrows raised to his hairline.

  “Are you questioning the novelty or the fact that I chose this student to mentor?” Beech had turned to Hogshead who pressed his lips together, looked away and didn’t answer.

  In an effort to make up for the ugliness of his partner’s overt racism, Crowley said, “It’s about time.”

  “Matter of fact,” Charming said. “Dread is my nephew.” He smiled with a pride that rivaled parenthood, grasped Dread’s shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake.

  Dread seemed embarrassed by the attention, especially when the professor looked at him in a new way.

  “Is that right?” Beech said. “Imagine that. I had no idea.”

  “Well, let’s see what we’ve got here, shall we?” He glanced toward the body. “Hope you’ve got a strong stomach,” he said to Dread.

  “I’ll be okay,” Dread replied quietly.

  They spent the next two hours combing over every element of the crime, hoping to squeeze out some detail that would present a lead not previously considered.

  “Well, what do you think?” Crowley addressed the question to Beech.

  He looked at his pocket watch. “It’s time for tea. With your permission, I’d like to send it round my brain over a hot cup.”

  Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we, uh, have tea at the office. You can ride with…”

  “Me,” Charming put in. “It would be my honor to give a ride to my nephew’s mentor.” He smiled at Beech. To Crowley, he said, “We’ll meet you there.”

  When they arrived at Charming’s car, Beech said, “Oh my. It’s one of those new electricals.”

  “Yes. My brother, Dread’s dad, designs and builds them.”

  Again Beech looked at Dread with newfound admir
ation. He chuckled. “Seems you’re surrounded by success, boy. Your family is taking over the world.” He chuckled. “No wonder you grabbed my notice. Good stock and all that.”

  Dread let the professor think he was related by blood. Why not? It didn’t make a difference to Crave or Dandy or their families. At least they’d always said it didn’t. And they’d treated him like their own. He knew that for a fact.

  Dread opened the front passenger door for Beech then settled himself in the back seat. It was a fifteen minute ride to the offices of the police authority at that time of day, which gave Charming ample opportunity to question Beech independently.

  As they drove away, he said, “Have you been following this series of murders, Professor?”

  Beech chuckled. “Certainly. There hasn’t been anything this sensational in over a century. Of course, I’ve been following from afar like any citizen not directly involved in the investigation.”

  Charming nodded. “Still, you’ve been keeping up. You must have some thoughts.”

  “I might.”

  “Let me just ask you outright then. In your opinion, is the killer more likely to be hybrid or a human hoping to make the murders look like they were committed by a hybrid?”

  “Is that important?” The professor was being coy and Charming knew it.

  “Not to the victims, but it would help us narrow the search.”

  “Yes. I see that.” He nodded. “The crimes have given the hate groups not only renewed fervor, but a sense of purpose that seems more urgent than before.”

  “So you think the killer is a misguided human?”

  “I didn’t say that. Didn’t say that at all. Just making the argument that it could easily go either way. What I can feel fairly certain about is that the killer, whether human or hybrid, is a young male, late teens, who is a student and lives near the park.” He turned around and looked at Dread in the backseat. “Matter of fact, you fit the description perfectly, my boy. Is it you?”