by Heidi Lang
Lailu spun in a slow circle. “I think it will do.” She actually loved the eggplant color of the blouse, how fresh it looked, with lace that ended at the hands. Plus the sleeve cuffs had pearly shell buttons. The whole thing felt practical—practical and beautiful.
“You think? You think?” Hannah threw her hands up. “After all the effort I went through to get this for you.”
“And how did you get it for me?”
“Don’t sound so suspicious,” Hannah scolded. “I didn’t re-home it, if that’s what you think. Starling gave me the cloth. I’m working on a design for her, and thought I’d test it out on you first.”
Lailu suddenly didn’t find the color or cut so appealing.
Hannah laughed. “Stop making that face. She’s not so bad. Besides, I thought you admired her.”
“I did, before. But I don’t trust her.” Lailu flopped down on the bed next to Hannah.
“Easy there. That’ll wrinkle.”
“I told you about the attack, right? That invention really had it in for Ryon.”
“Well, maybe he was sticking his nose somewhere he shouldn’t have been,” Hannah said, studying her nails. “This was probably supposed to scare him off.”
“Maybe.” Lailu hedged. “Do you think it will work?”
Hannah sighed. “Of course not. That boy is beyond nosy.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I wish I could’ve done something about your boots.”
“My boots?” Lailu blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Why? What’s wrong with them?” She studied her well-worn boots. They had served her well throughout her Academy years.
“Lailu, hon, they look like you’ve battled a mountain dragon in them—”
“Well, I did. You were there—”
“And a hydra,” Hannah continued. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to get all the swamp gunk off them.”
Lailu frowned, kind of seeing what Hannah meant.
Hannah stood and stretched. “I guess I’d better be off.” She gathered her brushes, hair combs, and other items from her nightstand and stuffed them into a bag. “I don’t want to be late for my appointment with Starling. She’s not a fan of tardiness.”
Lailu bit her lip. “Just . . . be careful, okay?” She hesitated, then added, “I think Starling might have been behind Carbon’s death.”
Hannah looked up. “Why? He was working for her.”
“He wasn’t working very well.”
“Hmm,” Hannah said, zipping up her bag.
“Do you know what happened to the other hairdressers? The ones Starling fired?”
Hannah laughed. “Oh, Lailu, you act like maybe Starling had them murdered.”
“Maybe she did.”
“Pishposh.” Hannah waved a hand. “I’ll ask around, okay? Carefully,” she added. “Good luck with Greg tonight.” She grinned, then sashayed down the stairs.
Lailu did one last check of her supplies, then left her bedroom. As worried as she was about Ryon, she still helped with the festive dinner rush and managed to snag some sleep once she got back. And good thing, too—it was promising to be a long, long night.
Slipshod was in the kitchen when she walked in. “Evening, Pigtails,” he said gruffly.
Lailu stared at him. His long, thin hair had been twisted into a low braid. “Y-your hair . . . ,” she began.
Slipshod ran a hand over it. “Just something I’m trying out. Never you mind about it.”
“And is that my Cooling and Containment cart?”
“Technically, I believe it’s Greg’s cart.”
Lailu flushed. Greg had loaned it to her months ago, and she’d forgotten to give it back. Truthfully she’d gotten kind of attached to it. It wasn’t Mr. Frosty, her old Cooling and Containment cart, but it was a close substitute.
“You don’t need it today, do you?” Slipshod asked.
“No. Greg has all the food at his place.”
“Okay, then.” Her mentor closed it up and wheeled it out of the kitchen, with Lailu hurrying after him.
“What do you need it for?” Lailu asked.
“Just . . . testing something out. Oh, and Wren will be here tomorrow morning to begin installations.”
“You’re okay with that, right? I mean, I don’t mind telling her no if you’re not sure.”
Slipshod laughed. “No, I think this can be a good thing for Mystic Cooking. We can’t stay still when times are changing. And good luck at the street fair. Maybe I’ll come by and sample some of that hydra of yours.” He pulled the cart out of the restaurant.
“Be careful with Mr. Icy!”
Slipshod winced. “You have got to work on that, Pigtails. A chef should be a little more creative when naming things.” Shaking his head, he closed the door and was gone.
“What’s wrong with Mr. Icy?” Lailu wondered.
Pink and purple clouds blew across the sky as the sun dangled low, like an orange on a branch, the last of its light engulfing the city in a rosy glow. Lailu weaved through all sorts of masked people, rubbing elbows with the rich and poor alike. During the Week of Masks, those differences melted away. She hated crowds and how she could never see over them, but the festive mood was contagious as Lailu watched jugglers and acrobats twirling through the streets, scientists offering rides in horseless carriages, and much more.
Lailu accepted a caramel apple on a stick from a boy with a monkey mask, then continued on toward the bridge, passing tables covered in brightly colored trinkets and booths full of exotic scents. She noticed Melvin’s Marvelous Masks was doing brisk business as well, with a whole line of people eagerly waiting to replace their handmade masks for something more exciting. It was hard for her to focus when so much surrounded her, but before she knew it, she was crossing onto Gilded Island, her feet carrying her through the tide of people over to LaSilvian’s Kitchen.
Lailu studied the long table out front, admiring the gauzy black-and-gold tablecloth, the silver platters all covered with elegant silver lids, and the gorgeous displays of mystic beasts molded out of porcelain. She especially appreciated the hydra charging down the middle of the table.
“It’s about time, assistant,” Greg called, grinning behind his fancy phoenix mask. It was truly marvelous, the feathers so realistic that she almost believed it might burst into flames. “Everything is prepped and ready to go. We just need to finish bringing it all out.”
Lailu’s smile stuck to her face like the caramel on her apple. “Your banner,” she whispered.
“You like it?”
Lailu was speechless. Stretched across the front of his restaurant, the banner for their street festival feast proudly proclaimed: Mystic Cooking and LaSilvian’s Kitchen special: Hydra!
He had put her restaurant’s name first.
21
PARADE OF MAYHEM
I love it,” Lailu said, ignoring the crowd shoving past her. She beamed at Greg. “It’s perfect.”
He put a hand to the back of his neck. “Perfect, huh? High praise coming from you.”
Lailu laughed, still staring at the banner. “Your uncle was okay with the restaurant order?”
Greg shrugged. “Honestly, he didn’t even want me to include Mystic Cooking at all. But as he’s always telling me, LaSilvian’s is my restaurant. And despite what all the papers are sure to say, you did help take down that hydra. A little.”
Lailu narrowed her eyes.
“I mean, a lot. A lot,” Greg said quickly. “Besides, I honestly like your restaurant’s name better. Of course, I’ll never admit this again. But I can tell you tonight.” He grinned, and even behind the mask, Lailu could see his eyes crinkling. She realized she’d started to like his grin. Then the rest of his words caught up to her.
“Why do the papers always leave me out?” she demanded.
Greg adjusted his mask. “It’s . . . my uncle is friendly with the press.” He sighed. “It’s his influence. I don’t even know what they’re writing about me. They don’t ask me at all.”
“He’ll come around. I know I did.” Greg froze, the words hanging awkwardly between them. “Uh, let’s go get the rest of the food, yeah? Don’t want to miss the parade.”
The entire street was lit up bright as day, with candles in all the windows and large torches set up every few feet to fight off the chill and the night. Lailu and Greg stood on a broad wooden box set behind their table so they could see over the tops of everyone’s heads.
“There’re all the Chef Academy students,” Greg pointed out. “Oh, and look, Master Sanford!”
Lailu cheered and waved as her former classmates marched past, the seniors in front doing fancy knife-tossing tricks. Behind them strode the teachers, led by Lailu’s favorite—a stout, grizzled man in an eye patch. He turned his good eye on Lailu and lifted his knife in a salute as he strode past.
Lailu beamed. “Did you see that? Did you?”
“I saw,” Greg said. “He was totally saluting me.”
Lailu scowled. “He was saluting me.”
“Maybe he was saluting both of us?” Greg suggested. “You’re missing the heroes, you know.”
Lailu turned back to see the heroes marching in formation. At the front strode the younger students, the firelight reflecting off their fancy uniforms. No one in the parade wore a mask, even tonight; this was their chance to be seen by the city, and some of the older students were truly enjoying it, doing flips and spinning their swords in complicated patterns.
Lailu noticed several of the already-graduated heroes marching behind the students, including Vahn. His long blond hair made him impossible to miss, especially when he kept tossing it behind his shoulders and blowing kisses at all the girls.
Lailu frowned. Vahn wasn’t the only one preening out there, but it just seemed kind of . . . tacky. She turned away, catching Greg staring at her. “What?” she asked.
Greg shrugged. “Still think he’s the most amazing ever?”
Lailu sighed. “I don’t know what I think,” she said, watching the scholars follow the heroes, their students marching solemn-faced, like they would much rather be indoors studying than parading through cobblestones and crowds. She couldn’t help remembering the conversation she’d overheard between Vahn and Hannah, and it filled her with a sick, prickly feeling. Embarrassment? Shame? She’d liked him so much, looked up to him, and this whole time, he thought she was just some annoying little kid. “Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. He’s interested in Hannah. I think . . . I think they might be dating already.”
“Really?” Greg’s eyebrows shot up.
“I don’t know. Hannah hasn’t really told me anything,” Lailu admitted, and the thought of actually asking Hannah about it made Lailu feel like she’d just swallowed a griffin whole. Ryon was right: Hannah really was good at keeping secrets. Maybe she thinks I’m just an annoying little kid too, she thought sadly.
“Well, I’m shocked. Here I thought Hannah had taste.”
Lailu scowled, so distracted that she barely noticed the artists bringing up the rear of the Academy parade. But even her bad mood couldn’t hold up when the entertainers jumped in. Jugglers hurled fire into the night sky, masked dancers twirled and spun, and acrobats did flips, tossing each other into the air. One of the dancers laughed and threw her head back, her auburn hair catching the light.
“Mom?” Lailu gasped.
“Seriously?” Greg leaned in beside her, and they both watched Lailu’s mother as she sashayed and spun with a group of other women, all wearing brightly colored skirts that sparkled and flowed around them.
Boom!
Lailu almost fell off the box, and Greg put an arm out to steady her.
“Look! It’s one of those fireworks!” His teeth flashed white in the darkness as colors raced across the sky in intricate patterns.
“Hannah’s show was better,” Lailu decided, remembering the time Hannah had used a firework to distract a mountain dragon, saving Lailu from being turned into a fine roast.
“Definitely.”
Lailu was suddenly very aware of Greg’s arm still around her shoulders. She decided she didn’t mind so much. But just because it was cold out. “Do you think the king will really be here this year?” she asked.
Ever since the last king had succumbed to his lifelong illness, it had always been either the queen or Lord Elister representing the royal family at these events. That did nothing to stop the rumors that the young king suffered from the same unnatural weakness as his father, a weakness caused by a curse from the depths of Mystalon, the queen’s home country. A curse, it was whispered, brought by the queen herself.
People around here didn’t whisper it very often though, or very loudly. Lord Elister did not tolerate that kind of gossip, and he had a way of shutting it down quickly and quite permanently.
“You mean you don’t know?” Greg smirked.
“Like you do.” Lailu shifted, and his arm fell away from her. It was suddenly colder.
Click-click, whirr, click.
Silence spread over the waiting crowd as everyone craned their heads to see.
“I see Starling has been very busy,” Greg said.
“She’s been wha—oh.” Lailu’s chest tightened because now she saw what he meant: Starling had created a whole pack of automatons.
Four of the metal creatures marched in front of an enormous horseless carriage, its front lights illuminating their brassy features, while four more marched behind.
Lailu shivered. She knew Starling had planned on making more of them, but this many? And so quickly! It was like an army. And the carriage itself was much larger than any other Lailu had ever seen, with six wheels on each side so close together, they were nearly touching as they rolled gracefully over the cobblestones. Steam shot out of the large pipes in back, and in front, a scientist with a shock of white hair spun the controls from his perch. Next to him on the raised front bench, Starling beamed and waved. Lailu noticed that the scientist wore a similar flared vest outfit, her red hair twisted into a practical-yet-elegant bun and pinned in place with a starling-shaped comb. Clearly, Hannah was already working her magic.
The carriage itself had an open top, so the passengers were all visible. Lailu noticed one of them was a boy not much older than she was, with blond, curling hair falling to his shoulders. She stared at him, leaning forward so far that the box under her feet wobbled.
Was that the king? It had to be. He was sitting next to the queen, and the resemblance was impossible to miss, with his delicate features and small, slim build. Lailu could understand the rumors of him being sickly; he looked almost more like a pretty doll than a king. Lord Elister sat on the other side of the king, with his two bodyguards sharing the row of seats behind them with . . . Walton? Lailu narrowed her eyes. Yes, the automaton butler was definitely sitting inside the carriage. She’d recognize that bowl of a hat anywhere.
“Do you think the king will be back to try our cooking?” Lailu asked as the auto-carriage rumbled past.
“Doubtful,” Greg said. “Even if he did come back, the crowd is looking hungry, so I don’t think we’ll have much left for him.”
Indeed, the people around them were starting to eye their silver platters with interest. Once the royal family had finished driving past, the parade would be officially over, and all citizens would be free to sample the different cuisines. Lailu could hardly wait to share their hydra feast.
The automatons stopped suddenly a few feet down the road, and the auto-carriage rolled to an abrupt halt to avoid running over them.
“This is different . . . ,” Greg began.
Lailu’s hand dropped to the knife at her hip because she knew from the look on Starling’s face that this was not a planned stop. Something was wrong.
Click-click-click.
The nearest automaton cocked its head to look directly over at Lailu and Greg, who froze beneath that glowing blue stare.
Zing!
&nb
sp; Four-inch blades appeared out of each metal finger.
“Oh, butter knives,” Lailu breathed, as the blue of the automaton’s eyes flashed, changing into a sharp, blazing red.
22
AUTOMATON ATTACK
Lailu barely had time to think as the automaton sprang unnaturally high into the air, launching itself right at her. Greg shoved their table over, the automaton’s blades embedding themselves into the thick wood as all their food crashed to the ground.
“No!” Lailu cried out, seeing all their dishes spilled, ruined. The expertly seasoned hydra tri-tip, rolls, and finger foods. The elegant platters of—
“Focus, Lailu,” Greg hissed. “We still have more hydra. We can make more food . . . if we survive this.”
Lailu nodded. Greg was right. Still, it truly hurt her to see good food wasted like that. Especially food that she helped make. These automatons had a lot to answer for.
The crowd screamed, people running in all directions. Over it all Lailu could hear Elister shouting, “The king and queen! Protect the king and queen!”
“Look out!” Greg pulled Lailu down as the automaton wrenched its hand free from the table and swiped at their heads. Lailu drew her knife, but the blade was no use against a metal creature. All she could do was fend off its attacks, and just barely; the thing moved impossibly fast, and Lailu knew it wouldn’t ever get tired.
“Pans,” Lailu gasped, ducking under the automaton’s arm and then kicking the table. It slammed into the thing’s legs, toppling it. “Grab frying pans,” Lailu ordered. She flipped the table and jumped on it, crushing the automaton beneath. To her right, another automaton grabbed a fleeing man by his vest and flung him over the heads of the crowd. Lailu had just enough time to see a woman lunge in with a metal staff before her automaton struggled out from under the table, blades flashing.
Wham!
Greg nailed it with a cast-iron frying pan, hard enough to dent its head.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Starling stood on top of the carriage, firing shot after shot from a metal, pipelike weapon. With each loud pop, the advancing automaton jolted back a step, but it didn’t stop. Lord Elister had his infamous curved blades swirling as he stood over the king and queen, his bodyguards standing back-to-back on the other side, and . . . Walton? Walton was fighting the other automatons.
