A Dash of Dragon

by Heidi Lang

  “I’m not a—” Lailu began.

  “I’ve got it from here,” Vahn said, ignoring her. “Go back to your restaurant and tell Ryon when he shows up where I’ve gone,” he called as the doors slowly slid closed behind him.

  Lailu hesitated, staring at the building into which Vahn had completely vanished. She could barely see the slit between the doors anymore. She should go. She still needed to add more spice to the roast, plus rotate all the dragon meat to cook evenly. But she hated the idea of leaving Vahn here, of not seeing this mystery through.

  A soft purring sound brought Lailu back to reality as the front of a building down the street slid open, the door rolling right up into the ceiling. She caught a glimpse of Starling marching outside the building with Mr. Boss.

  Lailu looked around, but there were no spaces between buildings, nowhere to hide, and they were heading right toward her. She did not want to see Mr. Boss. Or Starling Volan, for that matter. Anxiously, she turned and punched the button Vahn had pressed. The doors slid open painstakingly slowly. As soon as the gap was wide enough, she threw herself inside, praying to the God of Cookery that no one had seen her as the doors slid shut and plunged her into an eerie sort of half-light. There was another one of those illumination contraptions on the ceiling, but this one flickered and buzzed more than shone. It made Lailu’s head pound and her eyes ache. The only other source of light came from four glowing buttons on the wall in front of her.

  “—only when you give me a workable product,” Mr. Boss was saying, his voice quite loud.

  Lailu held her breath, her heart pounding painfully in her ears as she realized they must be walking right past her hiding place.

  “And, as I told you, I have developed a better product, but again, I will be needing the payment first,” Starling answered, anger bringing out a hint of her accent.

  “Well, now, maybe we can work out a deal.”

  “No.” Starling’s voice got louder. “No more deals, Victor! I am done with deals until you give me what you owe me. Changing locations will be expensive, and it’s thanks to your carelessness that we . . .”

  Their voices trailed off until Lailu could no longer distinguish the words being said.

  There was another ding! and the doors split in front of Lailu. She blinked at the sudden light, then fell back, gasping.

  The Butcher stood there, looking grimly satisfied. “Hello, little chef. Hear anything interesting?”

  28

  PRIORITIES

  Lailu went for her knife, her hand closing on open air. Too late she remembered she was wearing a horrid dress, her knife strapped to her leg underneath it.

  The Butcher slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. Lailu screamed, her head smashing into the floor, spots of color flashing in front of her eyes as Havoc’s large, bony hands pinned her wrists down. She could smell the stink of him, all sweat and blood and death. Lailu gagged, struggling, but it was no good.

  “Just my luck,” Havoc hissed in her ear. “I heard something, thought there might be a rat in our little operation, and here’s you, all prettied up. Helpless.” He squeezed Lailu’s wrists until her bones creaked. A whimper escaped her throat, her heart hammering so hard and fast she couldn’t breathe.

  She closed her eyes, blocking out the dim light, and forced herself to remember her training even as Havoc crammed both of her wrists into one large hand. Focus, Lailu, focus, she told herself. She was the youngest chef to come out of the academy in three hundred years. She had earned top marks in hand-to-hand combat, even beating out Greg, and she had just hunted and killed a dragon. What was the Butcher compared to that? Nothing. Just dead meat to be wasted.

  Lailu waited for a second, her body limp, and then moved. In one burst of motion she slammed her head into the Butcher’s. He howled in rage and pain but she ignored him, ignored the spots dancing in front of her eyes, and got her knee up. Planting her foot, she arched her body up, yanking one of her wrists free as she twisted to the side.

  The Butcher made a grab for her free hand, but she was already reaching up under her dress for the hilt of her knife. She pulled it free as she sat up, kicking the Butcher with the side of one leg, but there wasn’t much force to it from her awkward seated position. Swatting her leg away, the Butcher slammed an elbow into the side of her face and she went tumbling back down, the knife skittering out of her numb hand and across the floor.

  Lailu tasted blood as the world shifted around her. Her head and shoulders were outside the small room now, and dimly she was aware of the doors closing on her. For a second she wondered if she would be cut in half. She wanted to move, needed to move, but it was like her bones had been replaced with bread, her blood with stew, everything thick and heavy and slow.

  Ding! The doors gently nudged her shoulders and sprang open again. Lailu forced herself to sit up just as the Butcher’s heavy body moved, crushing her back down, his hand reaching for her own. She jerked it out of his grasp, her reaching fingers tangling in the cold metal spikes of her haircomb. In one quick motion she had it out, the point pressed firmly into Havoc’s throat.

  He froze.

  “Back up.” Lailu pushed the point into the soft part of his neck until his skin dimpled under the pressure. The Butcher slid back just enough so she could get her legs under her to stand. “Now let go of my wrist.” He didn’t move, so she dug the blade of the comb in until the edge started to slice through his skin as easily as it would have gone through a ripe tomato.

  He stiffened, then let go of her wrist.

  “That’s better.” She shook her hand out. The feeling started to come back, chasing pins and needles down her fingers. She gave her hand one more shake, then grabbed the Butcher by his greasy, dirty hair, the comb still pressed firmly into his neck. Now what?

  Lailu wasn’t really sure what to do. She hunted and killed mystic creatures, true, but the Butcher was a man, even if he was a monster. She couldn’t really kill him, could she? But if she let him go, he’d attack her again . . .

  “If you’re going to kill me,” the Butcher growled, “kill me and be done with it.”

  Lailu hesitated.

  “That’s what I thought. You don’t have the guts. You’re just a weak little girl after all.” He shoved the blade of the comb away from his throat and lunged at her, his hair coming out in her fingers. Lailu moved without thinking, kneeing him full in the face, then spinning and kicking him in the temple.

  Crash!

  The Butcher went down hard and stayed down, his face bleeding all over the floor. Lailu stood over him, panting, the bloody comb still clutched in one hand. She was hot and cold and weak, and she stumbled back, leaning against the wall for support as she tried to catch her breath. It felt like she’d been running, like she was still running, like she’d never breathe normally again. Was he . . . dead? Lailu looked down at him, noticing the slight rise and fall of his back. Not dead. She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed, and that scared her. Was she becoming a monster now too?

  “No,” she whispered to herself. “No, I’m not.” She snatched her knife from the floor and backed away until she could feel the warm afternoon air on her skin.

  Ding!

  The doors slid closed, trapping the Butcher inside that little room with the four glowing buttons.

  Lailu let out a breath, stuffed her knife into her leg sheath, and sagged against the wall, her knees weak and wobbly like cooked pasta.

  Her hands shaking, she finally managed to wipe the comb off on her borrowed dress, but then couldn’t bring herself to put it back in her hair. Instead, she traced the large fake flower on top, her finger trailing down the length of the blade. She never thought a haircomb would save her life, and she made a quick mental promise to stop making fun of Hannah for her strange obsession.

  The image of the Butcher flashed through her mind, his neck bloody, his face filled with rage as he lunged at her, and she shuddered and pushed it away. She couldn’t stop to think about
what had just happened, so she straightened her dress as best she could and headed back into the center of town, the comb held carefully in one hand. Vahn would be okay without her. She knew he could handle himself.

  “Wow, I’ve never seen you work so fast!” Hannah said.

  Lailu kept slicing dragon, cutting the rib eye portion into thick steaks. She could feel the evening trickling away from her. Had this been a normal day, the dinner crowd would already be fading like steam from a frying pan. She was running out of time.

  She pulled out one roast from her oven and slipped in the rib eye steaks to cook in its place. They needed to cook overnight to leach out the last of the poison. Off to her right, the sizzling of another batch of meat told her it was about time to switch it out.

  “So . . .” Hannah moved farther into the kitchen. “I got you a really nice flyer. It’s all over the city by now, or at least it will be in a few days. I mean, I found people to help distribute it, and everyone’s all excited. Dragon cuisine! It’ll be the talk of the town in no time.” Hannah clapped her hands enthusiastically.

  Lailu checked on her tri-tip steak. The subtle streaks of green indicating the meat was still poisonous were almost gone.

  “I had to promise them all free food, but I know that doesn’t bother you,” Hannah continued, eyeing Lailu.

  Lailu flipped the steaks into a clean pan, then added some phoenix feather meat tenderizer along with her own blend of dry rub before setting the pans back on the stove to cook with the steaks’ fatty side up. Turning, she removed a sizzling pan full of chunks of dragon and set it to the side for the soup.

  “Ooh, looks delicious.” Hannah reached out to take one.

  Lailu spun and slapped her hand away. “It’s not ready!”

  Hannah smiled. “So you do see me standing here. I was beginning to wonder.”

  Lailu exhaled, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “Sorry, Hannah. Thanks for getting the flyer made.” Then the rest of Hannah’s words caught up. “Wait, how much free food?”

  Hannah smiled mischievously. Then her smile wilted as she looked Lailu up and down. “What happened to you? Did you bathe?” Her eyes widened. “What happened to my dress?”

  Lailu glanced down at her outfit: gray slacks and a black shirt damp from her wet pigtails, half disguised behind a large stained apron. “Honestly, the dress is ruined,” she confessed. “I’m sorry, Hannah.”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed in her lovely heart-shaped face. “What about my comb?”

  “Actually, your comb is just fine. I’ve given it a place of honor.” Lailu pointed to a pair of hooks above her stove where she’d laid the comb out in all its ugly glory.

  Hannah picked it up, clearly relieved. “Why does it get a place of honor? I thought you hated my combs.”

  “I used it to stab the Butcher in the throat.”

  Hannah dropped her comb on the floor. “You what?” Then she realized what she’d just done and crouched down swiftly, scooping the comb back up and clutching it close to her chest.

  Lailu put down her cooking utensils and wiped her hands on her apron. “He attacked me,” she began, trying to justify her comb abuse. Hannah gasped dramatically, her hands over her mouth as Lailu told her all about her run-in with the Butcher.

  “How can you be so calm about it? I mean, Lailu, he attacked you. You could be dead! But here you are, cooking away like nothing is out of the ordinary–”

  “I have to cook. The elves are coming tomorrow evening. It’s not that I’m not upset, but if I don’t get this done before then, both you and I are toast. We’re on our own now, Hannah.” Turning back to her now sizzling slices of dragon meat, Lailu carefully flipped them over. She could feel Hannah’s eyes on her like a weight at her back. “Let me know if you see Ryon hanging around, would you?”

  “Who?”

  “That annoying winking guy. The one who was with Vahn that day we went to get my picture taken,” Lailu said.

  “Oh yeah. Dark hair, kind of skinny? Wears his clothing all rumpled?” Hannah said this last part very disapprovingly.

  “That’s him. I’m supposed to pass him a message for Vahn when he shows up here again.” Lailu yawned. Her whole body felt heavy, so heavy, but she was just about done with the initial prep work. Just a little longer and she could sleep for a few hours.

  Hannah played with a lock of her long, dark hair. “What if Ryon doesn’t show up?”

  Lailu hesitated. “I’m sure he will.” She wondered where Vahn had gone. The room had been nothing but a small box when she went in there, but there must have been a door or a hidden passage to someplace else. Vahn would be fine. He’d be fine. Wouldn’t he? For a second she thought about going back to help him, or searching out Ryon, but then she looked at the beginnings of the full-course feast spread in front of her and knew she couldn’t leave now.

  She was a chef first and foremost. The problems of the world would have to wait until after she finished cooking.

  29

  DURING CLOSED HOURS

  Lailu frantically stirred a large pot, adding vegetables and a few bay leaves. It was the morning of the third and final day. No matter what, her feast had to be complete tonight.

  “So I figure I’ll head out to the city, see how those flyers are doing,” Hannah said. “Unless you need my help here?”

  Lailu looked up into Hannah’s wide, fearful eyes and realized her friend wanted to be somewhere else when the elves showed up. “No, I think I’ve got everything under control,” she lied. Hannah had already gone with her to face a dragon. She didn’t need to face the elves, too.

  Hannah sagged with relief. “Oh, good. Not that I wouldn’t want to help you, of course, but I’d like to be out of the way when . . . that is, it’ll just be better. For both of us.”

  Lailu nodded, carefully measuring out a pinch of a special bouquet garni to counteract the acidity inherent in the dragon’s flesh. It was well known that when cooking dragon, regular herbs and spices needed a good mix of mystical herbs. Grown in hidden groves and slices of concealed rain forest, mystic herbs were said to help increase a person’s imagination, intuition, memory, or even intelligence. Lailu mostly used them as a way to soak up the excess magic of her mystic beasts and dilute it.

  “Have fun in town,” she called absently as Hannah left.

  A few seconds later, the bell above the door chimed again. Puzzled, Lailu poked her head around the corner.

  “Did you forget some . . .” Lailu swallowed her words.

  Starling Volan stood in the doorway. She cut a striking figure, her auburn hair pulled into a practical bun, a man’s vest hugging her lean frame over a white blouse and a long navy skirt. She caught sight of Lailu and her lips twitched into a clever little smile.

  “You,” Lailu began, when the bell above the door chimed once more and Elister stepped inside, trailed by Mr. Mustache and his freshly shaven twin.

  “Ah, Starling, you just beat me,” Elister said warmly.

  Lailu’s stomach cramped in fear. Why was Elister meeting Starling here, of all places? She studied his face, but he looked perfectly composed. If he planned on harming Lailu, she couldn’t tell.

  “Elister. As always, it is truly a pleasure.” Starling cast a sideways glance at Lailu.

  Lailu forced her mouth shut and kept her expression neutral, but she couldn’t slow her rapidly beating heart. If Starling mentioned that she’d seen her at the Crow’s Nest . . . if she told Elister that Lailu had been spying on him for Mr. Boss . . . Lailu’s throat went dry.

  “And Lailu.” Elister turned toward her. She froze, trying to look innocent as all the blood drained out of her face like water through a colander. “Is Mystic Cooking closed today?”

  Lailu swallowed. “N-not to you,” she managed. What else could she say to him?

  A genuine smile split his face. “That’s my chef.” He clapped her on the shoulder. Lailu staggered slightly. “We have some business to discuss, and I thought your restaurant would be
the perfect place.” He looked around. “And where is Master Slipshod?”

  “N-not here right now,” Lailu managed.

  “Oh, he’s left you alone again? Well, I’m sure he’s a busy man.” Elister turned back to Starling. “Starling, this is Lailu. Don’t let her tender age fool you—she recently served up an excellent dish at a party of mine. Basilisk fish, if you’ll believe it. My guests are still clamoring for seconds.”

  “Really?” Lailu asked, startled out of her fear.

  “Oh yes. You’ll have to cater for me again.” He nodded his head at Starling, adding, “Lailu, this is Starling, a brilliant scientist and a friend of mine.”

  Starling looked hard at Lailu, then gave her that same sly smile as she put out one dainty hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Why, everyone has been positively crowing about your work.”

  Lailu hesitated a second, her blood running cold. Starling’s word choice had felt very deliberate, like a subtle warning. Reluctantly, she shook Starling’s hand, feeling like she’d just made some kind of pact; if she didn’t talk about Starling’s dealings at the Crow’s Nest, then Starling wouldn’t mention hers. They both wanted to keep that secret from Elister.

  “Uh, sit wherever you like and I’ll, er, get you some appetizers.” Lailu ducked into her kitchen, but no sooner had she disappeared behind the cloth then the bell above her door chimed again. What now?

  She popped back out from behind the curtain to find Greg standing in the doorway, clutching the handle of a large Cooling and Containment cart, his eyes widening dramatically beneath his mop of curly hair. Over in the corner, Elister and Starling stopped talking, and one of the bodyguards stood up, his expression dangerous.

  “Greg!” Lailu moved quickly before he could say anything. “Glad to see you. You must be here for your portion of the meat. Finally.”