by Heidi Lang
“A what, now?” Lailu asked.
Hannah reached into the bag slung across her shoulders and pulled out a long cylinder of some kind of glossy dark material. It had a string coming out of the bottom, and it smelled like . . . like . . . smoke mixed with something sharp and acrid. Lailu couldn’t quite identify it, although she thought she’d smelled something like it before. “You light the bottom, here,” Hannah said, pointing to the string part, “toss it up, and it’ll explode with all those colors.”
Lailu took it from her. It was heavier than it looked. “I’ve never heard of this before.”
“It’s new. This guy who visited our school, well, he invented it.” Hannah took the firework back and slipped it into her bag. “One of the scientists.”
“Isn’t that kind of a dangerous thing to bring to a fashion school?” Greg asked.
Hannah frowned. “Fashion is danger. And really, he was just there to talk to the head fashionista, looking for financial backing. Lord Golderby has a lot of money. I just happened to be in his office at the time.” She looked down at her hands. “You know, being expelled.”
“Oh,” Lailu and Greg said uncomfortably.
Hannah shrugged. “Anyhow, it might be best if you didn’t mention I had them.”
Lailu sighed. “Is this another thing you re-homed?”
“Re-homed?” Greg asked.
“It’s a nice way of saying ‘stolen,’ ” Lailu explained.
“Hey!” Hannah looked so offended Lailu couldn’t help but laugh.
“Still, it definitely saved me this time, so I won’t say anything. As long as you promise to stop,” Lailu added.
“Oh, I’ve already stopped. I took these days ago, after all.” Hannah grinned, brushing her hair back and leaving a soot stain across her face.
“Well,” Greg said as a moment of silence stretched around them, “let’s get this started then, eh? We have some dragon to cook.”
“Do we ever.” Lailu turned and stared at the beast.
“How are we planning to bring it back with us?” Hannah asked.
Lailu and Greg exchanged looks. “Good question,” Greg muttered. “Good, good question.”
27
OVERHEARD
Lailu rummaged frantically in the cabinets, her clothing sticky with sweat. She needed to get the dragon meat prepped right away or risk the poison in the blood leeching through and spoiling the meat. Almost a full day had already passed since they had defeated the dragon, so that didn’t give Lailu much time before contamination set in.
The oven and every single broiler and burner were going at full speed. Unfortunately, she was still missing some key ingredients. This wouldn’t be nearly so challenging if Slipshod were here.
“Um, can I help you with anything?” Hannah hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, fanning her face with a folded sheet of pink parchment.
Lailu exhaled and closed the cabinet. “No. I can’t find my pixie paprika. Or the bay leaf combo. Plus I’m running low on lebinola.” Her shoulders slumped. “I think I need to go to the market.”
“Oh, good, that makes this easier.” Hannah held the pink parchment out to Lailu. “This message just came for you, but I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt you with it.”
Lailu took the letter suspiciously. It was very pink. She flipped it open, reading quickly:
Hi, Lailu.
Elixir? I don’t know what you’re talking about . . . I’ll be at the market at noon today.
—Wren
Lailu dropped the letter on the floor. There was no counter space for it.
“What?” Hannah asked. “You’re making your serious Lailu face.”
“I only have one face,” Lailu grumbled. Why would Wren say she didn’t know anything, but then tell her where to find her? “I definitely need to go to the market.”
“At least you’ve already gotten a lot done here.” Hannah jerked her chin at all the mounds of carefully sliced dragon. After they’d managed to hire a donkey cart to lug the dragon to Mystic Cooking yesterday, Lailu had gotten straight to work, separating the top round roast, bottom round roast, and round steak. She’d been at it all night, eating through her stash of coffee beans to stay awake. Now her whole body felt like it weighed about as much as this dragon. Still, she only had today and part of tomorrow left to finish cooking. She didn’t have time to rest.
She flipped open Master Slipshod’s book, double-checking the marinade. He suggested a few slivers of mandrake root to counteract the bitterness of the dragon’s blood. Lailu thought she’d be better off using the bellarose root instead, since it was just a little sweeter. After a few seconds of deliberation, she went with her choice, stirring it into the bubbling pot.
Hannah perched on the end of the chair, chewing her lip.
“Haven’t you heard that a watched pot never boils?” Lailu asked irritably, dumping the chopped meat from her cutting board into her marinade.
“Everything here seems to be boiling nicely.”
Lailu sighed. “What is it, Hannah?”
Hannah shrugged, her eyes distant. “Just . . . wondering.”
“Wondering?”
“What’ll happen if . . .” She chewed her lip harder.
Lailu set down her cutting board. “This is going to work, Hannah. I know it is. We’ll both be okay.” The youngest in a house full of boys, Lailu could still remember how proud she’d been that someone like Hannah wanted to be friends with her. Hannah had fit into her life perfectly, more like a sister than a friend. “We don’t need Slipshod or anyone else,” she said firmly. “Not when we have each other.”
Hannah smiled weakly and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “I still would like to help, though. Want me to go to the market for you? Pick up the spices you need?”
Lailu shook her head. “I need to meet someone there.” Besides, she didn’t like to trust spice selection to anyone who wasn’t a master chef. “But it would be a huge help if you’d get some flyers made.”
“Really?”
“Really. After the elves leave, I’ll still have plenty of dragon cuisine, and I have a restaurant to run here.”
“Wow, you sound so official. But I guess that’s true. I mean, with Master Slipshod gone, Mystic Cooking belongs to you.”
Mystic Cooking belongs to you. Lailu let those words sink in, but instead of being excited and proud, all she felt was tired and betrayed. She didn’t feel ready to run a whole restaurant. She didn’t feel ready to be completely on her own. After all, she hadn’t actually finished her apprenticeship, so what did that even make her? Not quite a master chef ? An “almost” master chef ? She wanted her mentor back.
Hannah must have seen the conflict on her face, because she changed the subject quickly. “Want to head to the city together?”
“Sure.” Lailu stretched. Fighting that dragon yesterday had really taken it out of her. Everything creaked and popped and hurt. “Let’s go.”
Hannah’s gaze sharpened critically. “You’re not going like that, are you?”
“Why? What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Lailu, honey, you’re going to drive away business. No one will want to eat food prepared by someone who looks like, like, well, like that.” Hannah jerked her chin at Lailu’s stained and disheveled outfit.
Lailu glanced down at herself. Her hair had straggled loose from her standard pigtails and there was blood smeared all across her apron and spattering the edges of her wrinkled shirt. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”
“Don’t make me answer that question. I want us to stay friends.”
“Ouch,” Lailu said. “Okay, I guess I’ll wash up quickly and change.”
“Oh, good. I have just the outfit!”
Lailu’s stomach sank. “I don’t have that much time,” she began.
“Then let’s be quick, but if you want to keep customers coming, a professional appearance is vital.” Hannah beamed and clapped her hands. She looked so happy that Lailu knew,
despite her time crunch and her hatred of dresses, she was probably going to end up looking like she’d lost another battle to a garden.
“No high heels,” she warned as she followed Hannah up the stairs. “And no pink!”
Lailu and Hannah parted ways in the city, Hannah off to see the scientists while Lailu headed toward the market. She spotted the small booth in the corner, almost hidden behind a vegetable stand advertising GARDEN FRESH VARIETY and a soap shop proclaiming SMELL SCENT-SATIONAL! The man behind the counter smiled at her, displaying a row of extremely crooked teeth in an otherwise pleasant face. “Ah, Lailu, welcome back to the Spice Rack.”
“Hello, Bairn,” Lailu said resignedly.
“And look at you! My, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes.”
Lailu picked irritably at her lavender dress. “Yes, well,” she muttered, shrugging off the compliment. She knew she looked ridiculous, what with the puffed sleeves and cutesy flowers sewn along the hems. Hannah had even insisted on thrusting an absurd jeweled comb into her hair, the top also in the shape of a flower, the bottom a long, slim blade like a letter opener meant to stab through a ponytail. Lailu could feel the sharp edges scraping into her skull whenever she moved her head. Hannah claimed this made her look more professional. Lailu had her doubts.
“So, where’s ol’ Sullivan Slipshod, eh?”
Lailu’s heart squeezed, but she forced herself to say casually, “Oh, he’s not around. Just me today.” And without giving Bairn a chance to ask more questions, she began her negotiations.
Ten minutes later, Lailu was down one full-course dragon feast to be claimed when her restaurant reopened to the public, but she had all the spices she needed without having to pay up front for them. Which was great, seeing as she had no money. In fact, Bairn was so happy with the deal he even offered to have her spices delivered to her door. “Dragon. I’m going to have dragon. That’ll be somethin’ to tell the ol’ grandkids, eh?” he kept saying, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
Lailu shook her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across her face. The idea that people were so excited about her cooking, her cooking, even without Slipshod, filled her with warmth.
As she wove back through the market, she kept an eye out for Wren. The girl hadn’t said where in the market she’d be, but it was right around midday now. She had to be here somewhere. But as long moments passed with no Wren, Lailu began feeling more and more anxious. She could practically feel her dragon feast waiting for her.
“Just two more minutes,” she told herself, elbowing her way through the crowd of shoppers and stall vendors, trying to get out of their way and still keep a clear view of the market square. Two more minutes and she’d go. She couldn’t wait any longer.
Finally, a flash of orange caught her eye. Across the square, a girl with curly red hair was trying to sneak around the booths, and doing a terrible job of it. She darted to the side, ducked behind a stall, then shuffled across the narrow lane, tossing a quick look over her shoulder. In her hands was a large glass jar, wide at the bottom before slanting inward, then rising up in a tall, narrow neck. It was empty now, but Lailu remembered seeing it full of a hissing purple liquid, and as her eyes followed the jar up, she glimpsed Wren’s face before the girl darted around another booth and out of sight.
Lailu shot after her, dodging other people and ducking around stalls, the erratic hem of her horrible dress held up in both hands so she could move easier. There! Another flash of orange just up ahead.
“Wren!” she called, dropping her gown with one hand so she could wave. “Wren!” The girl glanced back but seemed to look right through her, turning quickly away and speeding up. She was dressed much better for running than Lailu was, in gray slacks, leather boots, and a loose black vest over a purple shirt.
“Butter knives,” Lailu swore, jogging after her. Wren probably didn’t recognize her in this dress. Must be the ridiculous flower comb, Lailu decided.
Wren ducked down a small alley into the Industrial District before turning a corner. Lailu hurried after her, glancing around uneasily. She’d never really liked this part of the city, even before she’d had that creepy confrontation with Brennon. It was . . . strange. The buildings here all looked like giant blocks of brick and metal without any windows, holding only large, imposing doors. A few of the buildings had steam coming out of chimneys at the top, and the building closest to her was emitting a strange grinding, whistling noise. She hugged her arms around herself, wishing her knife were easier to reach. Unfortunately, she’d been forced to strap it to her leg; apparently, wearing a knife belt with a dress was a big fashion no-no in Hannah’s eyes.
Rounding another corner, Lailu stopped. Wren was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, the empty vial at her feet. Lailu hesitated. She hadn’t really thought this through all the way. What exactly did she want to confront Wren about? The elves? The elixir? Starling’s plans with Mr. Boss? Her eyes narrowed on the vial. Everything, she decided. It was time to get straight down to business.
“What are you up to, Wren?”
“No ‘Hi, thanks for meeting me, I got your note’? ”
“There’s no time for that now. I know you and your mom are using elf blood. I’m assuming it’s for that elixir Mr. Boss has been taking . . .” Lailu paused, her own words catching up with her. “Wait, he’s drinking . . . elf blood? He’s actually drinking it?”
“What did you think he was doing with it?” Wren asked.
Lailu shuddered. She’d heard of humanoid creatures out in the farthest reaches of the land of Mystalon that drank blood, but this was somehow worse. This was horrifying, monstrous, and downright disgusting. “How could you help him do that?” she whispered.
Wren sniffed, her eyes filling with sudden tears.
“D-don’t cry. Please, please don’t cry.” Lailu shifted uncomfortably. Should she pat Wren on the back? Or give her space? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been expecting tears.
“It’s just,” Wren sobbed, “I don’t want Mama to get in trouble. Mr. Boss is forcing us to make this elixir of immortality for him, and he won’t ever let us stop. If I show you where the elves are, do you promise not to tell anyone we’re involved?”
Lailu hesitated. She still couldn’t believe Starling Volan was behind the kidnapping of the elves, but she knew firsthand how Mr. Boss could turn things around on a person. Starling had probably gotten caught up in a bad deal with him too. If she told anyone about Starling’s involvement, the elves would kill the scientist for sure, and she doubted they would spare Wren. Not when they were so eager to go chopping off people’s body parts over missing haircombs. “Okay,” she said finally.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“A promise is binding,” Wren said solemnly.
“I know.”
Wren relaxed, her tears turning off immediately. So immediately it was like they had never been there at all. “Give me a count of five, and then follow, okay? I’ll lead you to them, but it can’t look like I know you’re there. You know, just in case.”
Lailu nodded, but Wren was already ducking around the corner and out of sight. Lailu counted hurriedly to five and then followed her.
The alleyway was empty. Completely empty. “What the . . . ,” Lailu whispered, looking around. She sprinted down it, turning another corner. Up ahead she saw Wren hesitating at the end of the alley. Lailu ran toward her, her eyes so focused on the girl that she didn’t notice there was anyone else in the alley with her until she crashed into them.
Strong arms caught her before she fell.
“Careful there,” said a familiar voice.
“Vahn?” Lailu’s heart skittered.
Vahn let go of her, his eyes widening. “Oh, Lula. I see Hannah’s dressed you up again.”
Lailu frowned and stepped away from him. This alley intersected another alley, but Wren wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Lailu peered left, then right, but saw no sign of her. Th
ere was nowhere that Wren could have gone: the street was straight, each side walled off by those strange buildings.
“I’m sorry I scared off your friend.”
“What?” Lailu asked.
“She saw me standing here and took off. Strangest thing, a girl seeing me and running away.” Vahn scratched his head. “Well, Lula, I need to get back to work, so—”
“Which way did she go?”
Vahn shrugged.
Lailu clenched her hands, suddenly frustrated. “Look, Vahn, this is important. I know you’re working for the elves.” Lailu had thought about it ever since she’d given Ryon the jar of blood: Vahn had to be working for the elves. That was why he was talking to Ryon, and why he suddenly left that day with Eirad, and why Brennon—Lailu swallowed, trying not to think too hard about him—why he had wanted her to give the jar to Vahn. It was the only explanation that made sense, the pieces coming together like spices in a perfectly blended broth.
Shock wiped away Vahn’s smile. “How did you . . . I mean, that’s an interesting theory.”
“Brennon gave me that jar to give to you,” Lailu continued, ignoring him.
“Wait, what? You know about—” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “About the jar, too?”
“Yes. I know about the jar, and what’s inside it. And I can help locate the missing elves, too. But only if I find where that girl went first.”
“Well, in that case, let’s stop wasting time.” Vahn tossed his long golden hair back behind his shoulders and strode forward, turning left at the fork. He hesitated, studying the buildings, his steps slowing. “She was too fast for me this time, but earlier I thought I saw her press . . . aha!” He pushed a small indent in the side of the third building down the row. Now that Lailu knew what to look for, she could see it too, a little circle slightly wider than her thumb that blended with the walls almost perfectly. With a soft ding! the wall of the building split in the middle, the sides sliding apart to reveal a small, square room.
“I’ve seen her here before,” Vahn said, stepping inside. “I just never thought she was very important.” His lips quirked in the smallest smile Lailu had ever seen on his face. “Seems I have a tendency to underestimate you kids.”
