by Heidi Lang
“And what have we here?” the female elf purred.
“This is Eirad’s guest,” the first elf said.
“Really?” She studied Lailu in surprise, her pale eyes half-hidden in the shadows beneath her snakeskin mask. “He invoked the Rite of Guest for a human? Eirad? ”
Lailu could feel her face flushing beneath her own elaborate mask.
“Well, he has been in a dreadful mood lately. Perhaps all he needed was a new pet.” She patted Lailu on the top of her head.
“I’m not a pet.” Lailu twisted away from the elf, but she caught Lailu’s wrist and spun her around. “And what’s the Rite of Guest?” Lailu asked.
“Only elves are allowed to dance here on this night of all nights. Unless an elf claims Rite of Guest, in which case that elf claims responsibility for the creature brought among us.”
“Creature?”
“A creature such as yourself.” She lunged in and out, the fangs on her mask extending, until she seemed to become a snake herself.
Lailu jerked back in surprise.
No, she was just an elf in a costume.
Lailu’s breath caught in her throat. She had to get out of here. She tried weaving her way through the throng of dancing bodies, occasionally getting caught, twirled, sent stumbling back into the middle of the room, while all around her the whisper of Eirad’s guest spread like wildfire until the room vibrated with this knowledge. A room that suddenly felt too stuffy, too full of elves, all glittering and dangerous. Lailu rubbed her eyes. Sometimes they were elves, and sometimes they were . . .
Dragons. Griffins. Snakes. Unicorns. Even a pack of three elves, dancing so close together that their limbs twined as one, somehow turned into a hydra.
“You should have stayed in your safe little kitchen,” a female elf said, her features hidden beneath the beak and feathers of a roc, one of the giant birds that live on the tallest of mountaintops.
“Do I know you?” Lailu asked desperately. The elf’s voice was strangely familiar, and she clung to the thought of anyone who could help ground her in this shifting, moving world.
“Yes,” the elf said, her arms moving, the feathers glued to her sleeves rustling in a sudden breeze. “I was at your dragon cuisine negotiation.”
Lailu stiffened. She remembered that night all too well. In order to save Hannah from the elves, Lailu had promised to hunt and cook dragon cuisine for them. If she’d failed to cook the best cuisine they’d ever tasted, they would have kept her as a slave—forever. Luckily, she had managed to pull it off.
“You remember me now, I see,” the elf said. Her sleeves blurred, the feathers thickening, spreading, until they became a pair of wings.
“Wha—” Lailu began as the elf charged forward, her mouth ending in a sharp, cruel beak, open and ready to snap. At this close range, Lailu would never be able to escape in time.
Someone caught her from behind and whirled her out of the way.
“Gwendyl!” Lailu’s rescuer said disapprovingly.
“What?” Gwendyl complained, her wings and beak vanishing so completely that Lailu was left to wonder if they’d been there at all. “I’m just having a bit of fun.”
The elf let go of Lailu, and she immediately recognized Fahr, the leader of the elves, with his silky crow-black hair and laughing gray eyes. He wore a simple black domino mask that did nothing to disguise his features.
“I’m glad you chose to come here tonight,” Fahr said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “But perhaps you’ve had enough excitement? This next part of the dance is not really suitable for you. Unless you’d care to stay?”
“No, I—I would like to leave,” Lailu said, relieved.
Fahr beckoned to someone. Someone with dark hair and a familiar fox mask.
Lailu’s jaw dropped. “Ryon?” How did he seem to be everywhere?
“That’s me.” He winked, then took her arm. “You look a little lost.”
“I feel completely lost.” She followed him to the outskirts of the room, and this time the elves seemed to part, allowing them to pass.
“Are you here as someone’s guest too?” she asked.
Ryon blinked in surprise. “No, I’m here on my own.”
“I thought only elves could be here. Unless that Rite of Guest thing was invoked.”
Ryon coughed into his hand. “I suppose you could say I’m here as Fahr’s guest, then. In a way.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s the reason my place here is secured.” Ryon pushed his fox mask up. His gray eyes, normally full of mirth, were serious as he studied her face. “You really haven’t figured it out, have you?”
Lailu pushed her own mask up. “Figured what out?”
Ryon jerked his chin back in the direction they’d come. Lailu frowned and looked at the mass of elves, not sure what she was looking for. . . .
She spotted Eirad again, dancing in a frenzy, braids moving so fast they were a golden blur. Fahr had joined him, both of them moving to the same beat. Their dance reminded Lailu of a fight, all grace and elegance and, beneath it all, a sense of danger, like a sheathed blade.
Lailu’s eyes widened. She stared at Fahr, at his blue-gray eyes and dark hair, and then turned back to Ryon. Same dark hair, similar eyes, similar cheekbones . . . She’d noticed it before but hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t wanted to believe it. Instead, she’d let the thought slip away like water through a colander. “You’re . . . you’re an elf.”
Ryon winked.
Lailu recoiled. “H-how? How are you—”
“Oh, relax, Lailu. I haven’t changed. I’m still the same Ryon. And besides, I’m only half elf. I had a human mother.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Not usually. Half-elves ordinarily are put to death when they’re born. But Fahr is my half brother, and in my case he intervened. I have some very strict limitations put on me, but otherwise . . .” He shrugged.
“Limitations? What kind of limitations?”
“Oh, this and that. Anyhow, your friend knew what I was almost immediately. I just assumed you’d told her.”
“My friend. You mean Hannah?” Lailu could hardly believe it. “She knew?” And when did Ryon talk to Hannah about this? Suddenly Lailu remembered Ryon’s “illuminating conversation” with Hannah. “Wait a second. Is this what you were talking about this morning?”
Ryon chuckled. “Don’t worry, we also talked about you.”
“M-me?”
“Oh yes. Hannah bet me a meal on the house I couldn’t get you to dance.”
“She did what?”
“Full appetizers and everything.”
“She can’t do that!” Lailu thought about it. Hannah gave away free meals all the time. “Okay, I guess she can,” she muttered. “And don’t change the subject. How did she know after just meeting you?”
“I guess she’s more perceptive than you are,” Ryon suggested.
“I never said I was perceptive. You were the one who said that.”
“And I take it all back.”
“Hey!”
Ryon grinned. “Well, maybe not all of it.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” Lailu grumbled.
“She’s good at keeping secrets.”
“Not from me.”
Ryon raised his eyebrows.
Lailu remembered a few months back when Hannah hadn’t told her about getting kicked out of school, or about her sticky-fingered problem when it came to other people’s hair combs. Was Hannah keeping secrets?
“Why would she keep secrets from me?” Lailu asked, hurt.
“Perhaps because you’re an open book, my friend. All your secrets are visible right across that cute little face of yours.”
Lailu suddenly felt very warm. She pulled her mask down to cover her blush.
“And speaking of Hannah, I’d better get you on home to her,” Ryon continued. “Things are about to get strange in here.” He jerked his chin at the dance floor.
> Lailu’s jaw dropped as the elves tangling in front of her shifted, their limbs stretching, faces twisting beneath masks that flowed like water, transforming them into their costumes, turning them into beasts. Now she knew it wasn’t just her eyes playing tricks on her.
Her face tingled, her blood roaring. Lailu could taste sulfur in the back of her throat, and suddenly she was all teeth and fire and hunger. Her body felt strange, too small and pitiful, but not for long. Already she was growing, her talons sharpening, tail lengthening. She could smell prey nearby and knew it would be no match for her.
Pain lanced through Lailu, and she cried out. All her strength was ripped from her, her power taken. No! No! I am a dragon! I am . . .
“I am . . . ,” Lailu mumbled, blinking. She was Lailu. She was a girl, just a girl, without talons or tail or dragon’s fire. She was on her knees on the ground, her body weak and shaky, her throat raw.
In front of her, her mask twisted on the ground, the snout opening wide.
Ryon stomped on it, and it shattered with a little cry. “Elf-made?” he asked.
She nodded, heart hammering. “Did you pull it off me?”
“Yes.” Ryon ground his boot into the pieces of mask, turning them into a pile of glittering dust.
“Thank you.”
“Maybe stick to masks made by people you trust, hmm?” he suggested.
Lailu nodded. She could still feel an echo of the dragon’s hunger thrumming through her. “You know, I think I’m ready to go,” she decided, her voice small.
Ryon laughed. “Yeah, me too.” He pulled her to her feet and led her out of the room and back into the hallway full of paint and mold. Lailu picked up her discarded griffin mask, then followed Ryon outside and into the fresh air, where people were still people and animals were still animals, and the elves—those caught in between—could be forgotten.
8
MASTER SLIPSHOD IS UP TO SOMETHING
Lailu pushed open the door of Mystic Cooking, her body heavier than any mountain dragon, her eyes gritty with sleep. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as she shut the door behind her and Ryon.
“Thanks for walking me home,” she told him. She hated to admit it, but that whole experience with the elves and their creepy masks had really shaken her up.
“For you? Anything,” he said.
Lailu’s chest filled with warmth, like the comforting heat of her favorite stove.
“Besides, I had some business to attend to near here, anyhow.”
Some of that warmth dissipated. “Oh.” It would have been nice if Ryon didn’t have another motive for spending time with her for once, but Lailu knew she should be used to it by now.
“Lailu? Is that you?” Hannah called from the kitchen.
“Yes.” Lailu trudged across the dining room and pulled the curtain back to reveal Hannah wrapped in a large fluffy robe. She looked quite cozy sipping her tea and reading a newspaper by candlelight.
Hannah’s eyes widened on Ryon. “What’re you doing here so soon?”
“So . . . soon?” Lailu frowned.
Ryon coughed. “I’m actually on my way out. I’ll see you around, Miss Lightning Fingers. Lailu.” He winked.
“Miss Lightning Fingers?” Lailu asked as Ryon vanished, the front door chiming behind him. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, you know, just reminding me I’m a thief. Former thief,” Hannah amended quickly. “Er, how was the party?”
“It was . . . an experience.” Lailu sagged against the counter. “What are you doing up so early?”
Hannah looked down at her paper and made a show of turning a page. “Meeting someone.”
Lailu scowled. Of course, she was probably meeting Vahn. Again.
Hannah glanced up. “You look grouchy. Did you dance?”
“Yes, yes,” Lailu muttered.
“Really?” Hannah put the newspaper down. “You really danced? Did you dance with Greg?”
“Greg? Why would I dance with him?” Lailu snapped.
Hannah blinked. “Whoa. Okay, there’s definitely a story in there.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “Spill.”
Lailu shook her head.
“Come on, you know you want to tell me all about it,” Hannah coaxed. “I mean, unless you picked a fight with Greg, and he was totally innocent.”
“Innocent? He’s not innocent at all! It was all his fault.” And Lailu found herself telling the whole story. “And now I’m stuck hunting with him tomorrow morning,” she finished, her hands curled into fists.
“Hmm,” Hannah said.
“Hmm? What do you mean, hmm?” Lailu demanded. “He was definitely being a jerk.”
“Oh, undeniably. But, Lailu, honey, don’t you think he was just jealous?”
“J-jealous?” Lailu sputtered. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Hannah asked. “Well, no matter his motives, there’s no excuse for him ignoring you like that. Would you like me to go and talk to him for you?”
“No!” The last time Hannah tried to fix things between her and Greg, it turned out as bad as garlic chocolate. Besides, there was nothing to fix. They were rivals—that was it. The sooner she finished this hunt with him, the sooner she could go back to having nothing to do with him, and that was definitely the way she preferred things.
Hannah wrinkled her nose.
“What? I don’t have to be friends with him,” Lailu began defensively.
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just . . . is it true Starling wore her hair in a ponytail for Lord Elister’s party? I mean, really? A ponytail ?” Hannah shook the paper at Lailu, almost as if the whole thing had personally offended her, and Lailu noticed the picture on the front page. Starling Volan stood proudly in the middle of the ballroom, one hand casually resting on her metal creation’s smooth head. Underneath that picture was the caption: STARLING TRIUMPHANTLY PRESENTS THE AUTOMATON.
“Really? She created a creepy metal person, and it’s her hair you’re talking about?” Lailu said. Hannah was too much sometimes.
“Well, a person’s appearance is very important,” Hannah sniffed. “I’d think someone as powerful as Starling would have hired the very best hairdressers to help her present the very best image. Especially on such a big night.”
“Maybe she fired her hairdresser.”
Hannah tilted her head to the side. “Hmm,” she said.
“And how did you get today’s newspaper so early?”
“Lord Elister had it delivered.” Hannah flipped it over to study the photo again. “Along with your payment, and a note explaining that there’s a whole article in here dedicated to your scrumptious dinner.”
Lailu lunged across the table, snatching the paper from Hannah’s fingertips. Hannah laughed as Lailu flipped through to find the article.
Slipshod Savors the Day
First Day of the Week of Masks, Gilded Island—Master Chef Sullivan Slipshod wowed guests at Lord Elister’s exclusive party last night with his full-course griffin feast. He was assisted by young up-and-comer Lailu Loganberry. When asked about his assistant, he praised her hard work ethic and willingness to learn. “As you know, I used to cook for the old king himself, and under my expert tutelage, Lailu is well on her way to becoming a master chef to rival even my reputation.”
Thanks to the success of Slipshod’s restaurant, Mystic Cooking, that “reputation” of his is once again a good one. Many have speculated that . . .
(story continued on page 3)
As Lailu began flipping to page three, the bell chimed, and Master Slipshod waltzed in as if summoned.
“There you are.” Lailu dropped the paper. “Where have you been?”
“Ah, Pigtails. I’ve been making connections. Building the old bridges up, that sort of thing.”
“What ‘old bridges’?” Hannah asked suspiciously. “Are you gambling again?”
Slipshod drew himself up to his full height. “I thought we agreed,” he said stiffly, “not to b
ring that up anymore. After all, I don’t ask you how you’ve gotten your latest hair combs, do I?”
Lailu winced. She should have known that Slipshod and Hannah’s recent peace couldn’t last forever. After all, there were only two things they agreed on: their affection for Lailu, and their belief that the other was a bad influence on her.
“I can’t believe you.” Hannah stood and crossed her arms. “I know you’re up to something shady. And I also know you’re probably going to pull Lailu right into it. Again.”
“Me, shady? Me, shady? Thanks to your poor decisions, Lailu was forced to negotiate with the elves—”
“That was your fault too!” Hannah snapped.
“It’s okay. It all turned out fine—” Lailu tried desperately, but no one was listening to her; they were too busy arguing about her.
“I was trying to teach my apprentice the dangers of running a business!” Slipshod roared.
“Well, I was trying to protect my best friend from your carelessness and cowardice!”
“Cowardice? Me? I have faced down dangers that would haunt your very dreams. Once you’ve come face-to-snout with a dragon, we can talk about cowardice.”
“Then I guess now’s a good time to talk, because I have done that.” Hannah put her hands on her hips. “Or have you conveniently forgotten about the time you abandoned Lailu and I helped her hunt a mountain dragon?”
Slipshod’s mouth moved silently for a few seconds. “Blast, I did forget,” he muttered.
“Look, let’s not fight,” Lailu said quickly. “I think we can all agree, you both got me into a lot of trouble.” Hannah and Slipshod turned their glares on her, and Lailu quailed. “I mean, uh, you also both got me out of trouble. . . .” She adjusted the neck of her tunic. It felt tight all of a sudden.
“I’m going for a walk,” Hannah declared. She paused and looked down at her robe. “After I change.” She stalked up the stairs.
Lailu shifted awkwardly in the silence. “So,” she began slowly, trying to think of something, anything, to change the subject. “I’m hunting with Greg tomorrow at sunrise.”
“Oh yes, LaSilvian told me all about it. You thought hunting griffins was exciting? Just you wait.” Master Slipshod rubbed his hands together.
