“I made a smaller version too. I thought you might like to taste it, you know, before you set it out?” she asked shyly.

  He glanced at the clock. “We’ll be taking a break soon. Put the smaller one out when you’re ready and make suggestions as to how we should enjoy it.” Gerard smiled. “I have every confidence in you, Pippa.”

  The pie bases were also ready, so she set about filling them with the seasonal fruits and canned cherries, then added the tops to the pastry. Next, she flicked on the sugar to complete the effect, and slid them into the oven, adjusting the heat levels and timer. Once they were cooked, she retrieved them from the oven, making a pile of dirty tins, ready for cleaning.

  With no more reason to procrastinate, she gathered plates and knives, pastry forks, and spoons for serving. She added a pat of thick, creamy butter to her tray and goggled as she noted others carried similar trays loaded with foods they’d cooked and were converging on the long refectory style table at the end of the kitchen.

  “Ah, good! Now, Emma here has been busy creating a sourdough loaf and dukkah for the introduction. Grab a seat, Pippa. You don’t want to miss this.”

  Plates were distributed as a platter of sourdough chunks was handed around the table, followed by a dish of olive oil and dukkah.

  “I’ve never had dukkah before,” Pippa said. She followed their lead, dipping the bread into the oil then the dukkah. The liquorice and pine nut concoction exploded in her mouth.

  The girl who’d produced the morsels smiled. “I’m Emma, and dukkah is Egyptian. The word means ‘to pound,’ and it’s a nut and spice mix. I’ll give you the recipe later if you’d like.”

  Pippa couldn’t believe the open way these people shared their skills and recipes. “I’d… I’d really like that.”

  Next came a delicious macadamia crusted fish. “Freshly caught overnight and delivered two hours ago. Nothing like fresh ingredients. The macadamias are imported from Queensland where they’re often called Queensland nuts.” The girl spoke with a twang Pippa guessed was from another country. “I’m Heather, and I’m actually an Aussie import here. Arrived after the attacks on the houses and decided to stay because the crew here is so great. Anyway, these nuts are native to Australia, and I like to use these as they’re the best in the world.”

  Steve, a big African American, smiled from the end of the table. “I’ve got gumbo. Ain’t no gumbo like my mama’s. She learned from her mama in Louisiana. There’s chicken, sausage, and shrimp. We all arrived here from different locations, but we’re one big family. The day staff are human and sometimes the odd were, but the night staff, they’re all vampire. We cook during the day, making half the food to be served in the dining room, but we all respect each other, care for the kitchen, and look out for each other.”

  The ramekin of gumbo was tasty. Flavourful with chunks of vegetables and served with a base of rice. And as Pippa ate, she considered Steve’s words. If only life were that simple.

  “It’s delicious. I’ve never had anything like this before.” Pippa had barely cleaned her plate when another dish was passed down to her.

  “Don’t fill up yet, Pippa. There’s lobster next,” Gerard laughed.

  Lobster. Roger’s favourite meal. Suddenly she remembered the demands he’d make, and she wondered if she could push it aside.

  But the aroma of a soup tickled her sense.

  “Pippa? It’s a lobster chowder. I know many would say it’s sacrilegious, but some people prefer lobster this way to the tails. Taste it and see.” Gerard spoke from beside her, and she glanced up.

  “I…” She shrugged. “My stepfather liked tails grilled, served with herbs and butter. I… I don’t really like lobster.” Her guts knotted in sudden fear, and she almost rose, but the touch of Gerard’s hand on her shoulder stopped her; it wasn’t holding her in place, but more giving a subtle touch of understanding and support.

  “That’s okay. If you want to wait for the next item, we understand, but if you decide you want to try it, that’s okay too.”

  His words gave her hope that she might avoid something that she feared. And although a ramekin was passed over with a small serving of the chowder inside, for a moment, she considered pushing it to the centre of the table. The scent was delicious, however, and she lifted her spoon, reasoning they’d all been so generous and welcoming, the least she could do was taste what they offered.

  Glancing into the bowl, she started; the chowder had the appearance of a thick soup, unlike the thick, almost stew-like texture she was used to. “You use the tail?” Pippa asked.

  Gerard laughed, but the sound wasn’t derisive or discordant. “No, that’s a waste of good meat, because it would become tough. For this one, it’s body and claw all the way. Stacey and Carla peeled the bodies and claws for an hour to get enough meat, but it’s creamy, and the meat doesn’t get hard in the cooking process.”

  The girls who’d been collecting the dishes and stacking them in the large dishwasher beside the table waved, and Pippa sighed. They really were all so very welcoming.

  Pippa lifted the spoon to her lips. The taste was divine. Smooth and hinting at the fresh garden ingredients, which she guessed the gardeners outside had harvested. “That’s good. Really good,” Pippa added.

  “Good, because now you’ve got Karine’s offering.” Gerard smiled as Karine passed around a small portion.

  “It’s veal piccata served with baby green beans and a light olive oil mash,” the girl said. “It originated here in New York. The history is a little unclear, but we think it was created by the Italians. It’s a favourite of many. The sublime flavours of veal teams perfectly with the vegetables. I learned it from my mentor in Armenia fifty years ago.”

  Pippa started. “Fifty years?”

  Karine laughed. “We weres age slowly, don’t you know! Just don’t tell everyone, or they’ll all want to be wolves or bears or even raccoons. And yes, I’ve seen them!”

  Pippa goggled at her. “Raccoons?”

  “You never know. Anyway, I’ve been in America for twenty-five years, but I was one of the early imports to the house when Celina and Javed created it, so about two years? Three? Who counts these days?” The woman laughed, and the others at the table laughed alongside her.

  “We’re a strange bunch, but happy,” Gerard added. “It’s hard to find a kitchen staff who mesh so well.” He stared at her. “You’d probably fit in well with us,” he said, and she gasped.

  “I… uh…” Pippa stuttered.

  “No need to make a decision right now.” He smiled. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

  She tasted the veal, and it melted in her mouth.

  Once the plate was empty Gerard smiled at her. “Your turn, let’s get a taste of your loaf.”

  Her hands trembled and butterflies took wing in her belly as she rose to scoop up the platter she’d brought to the table, suddenly aware that it was probably the most basic offering she could choose. With care, Pippa sliced the bread and handed around the plates. They handed out the knives and spoons, and there was silence as they tested her food.

  A stone lay heavy in her gut.

  “Oh my God!” Steve muttered. “Where the hell did you get this recipe?”

  “I… I found it in a book,” Pippa whispered, feeling embarrassed.

  “What did you change?” Gerard questioned.

  “I changed the quantities of fruit and sugars. It was too sweet and—” Pippa glanced down at her plate, dreading the words easy, basic, or even awful, which was what she feared to hear from these skilled cooks.

  “This is the best fruit loaf I’ve ever eaten, and my mama was no slouch,” Steve spoke.

  “It’s light. The crumb is perfect, as is the balance of flavours. You were right to pair it with butter. I imagine many would toast it, but warm from the oven is just perfect. It’s an ideal afternoon tea treat,” announced Gerard, and the assembled group clapped enthusiastically.

  Carla and Stacey slid small dishes of ice-cream drizzled in a sweet berry sauce along the table and pastry cups of thick, unctuous, fruit-infused cream custard on platters in to the middle of the table. “We used Elaine’s pastry cups, and the ice-cream is a pure vanilla with chips of butterscotch. The cream is infused with boysenberry. Light so as not to overwhelm the vanilla, and it could be served with fresh fruit,” the blonde girl Pippa thought was Stacey said.

  “The pastry custard cream could be used to replace a cheese platter for those not looking for super-sweet treats,” said Carla, the darker-skinned girl.

  They tasted it in silence. “You’ve done well, girls. The only thing is the boysenberry is a little lost in the cream. Maybe next time you could try a swirl of fruit, but I’m not sure replacing the cheese is its place. It’s delicious and light. I think we could offer it as a sweet item with the afternoon teas, and at the same time offer Pippa’s bread as an alternative.”

  The others around the table nodded. Carla looked a little crestfallen at the suggestion, but Stacey smiled. “Well, I was wondering if the ice-cream might also be better with a swirl instead of the fruit sauce.”

  Pippa watched them as they all contributed to the conversation, offering wisdom. Then Gerard turned to her and asked, “What do you think, Pippa?”

  “I’m not sure I’m in a position to comment,” she said, and Gerard shook his head.

  “If you’re at the table, you should offer advice. It’s how we work. Now, your thoughts?”

  She considered the dish, took another taste. “It’s a lovely ice-cream. Well-balanced, but the butterscotch is lost. The sauce is nice,” she said, and Stacey winced. “I’d prefer something a bit more definite. Perhaps a fruit-based wafer? Like an air-dried leather, wrapped in a light pastry and shaped like a fan.”

  They looked at her. “I’d be happy to give that a try,” said Steve.

  “Me too,” echoed Carla and Stacey.

  Warmth spread inside Pip. Until now, the only positive feedback she’d received from Roger or her mother was the lack of complaints. Peter had eaten everything, and Maxim…well, he’d said his aim was not to poison himself. While he’d been effusive in his praise, that comment had moderated her reaction.

  But here she was, in a commercial kitchen, cooking what she felt comfortable with, and it was embraced wholeheartedly.

  Gerard cleared his throat. “Well, boys and girls, there comes a time when we must finish our celebrations. Time for our role switch-up. Tomorrow is the last day of this list, so I want your menus for the next month in writing. And remember, whatever you need for the next week, I need your lists no later than ten tomorrow morning, so I can get the orders finalised. Please take a moment to consider what’s already on hand, in the pantry and cold room, as that should be the high priority for the next few day’s recipes. If you need anything from the garden or greenhouse, get your requisitions in early, because there’s only so much produce.” He handed papers around to the group. “Here’s the list of placements. Steve, can you drop Elaine’s to her? Remind her of timeframes and tell her I can’t make any variations.”

  Pippa looked at the pages. “What are you doing?”

  Karine leaned over. “We swap positions, only Gerard keeps his. It keeps our cooking fresh, and makes us think about how we might fill other roles. It means if someone is away and we need to cover, then we can, as we’re all skilled across the kitchen.”

  “It’s not how most commercial kitchens work. Usually, a chef remains in a single role, but there’s a danger that you get too caught up in only one kind of cooking. You get stale, girlfriend.” Steve grinned at her. “Besides, you get to try new ideas regularly, and our clientele love that.”

  Pippa shook her head in wonder and followed everyone else up and out, which was just as well as her second batch of pies were ready to be removed from the oven.

  Chapter Twelve

  Maxim looked at the computer, thankful the internet had finally come back online. He’d sent Morrow a message, but all he’d received back was one line.

 

  It didn’t explain anything, and being unable to gain any information until tomorrow morning, he’d spent the day prowling around the grounds and talking to the human staff, who were minimal, and really there to meet the needs of the Yeux Secondes, while waiting for something momentous to happen. His meeting with Simon had been anti-climactic.

  Simon had wanted the details of the call, but without the ability to track, the number having showed up as unlisted, they couldn’t track it.

  He wouldn’t be able to talk to Morrow until he was available, later tonight. Simon had reminded him that leaving the nest at this point wasn’t safe.

  “But Morrow said we need DNA samples,” Maxim said, trying to clarify how they would proceed.

  “Yes, but that can’t happen until we have more information. You said you’ve got the librarian searching?” Simon prompted.

  “With the connection outage, and since this is merely a phone, I can’t search online. Besides, I’d need to know how to spell it.” For the first time, Maxim regretted only being conversationally fluent. Now he wished he’d made more of an effort to learn more than simple written English… But he hadn’t, apart from what was necessary to work in the field. Medical jargon was reasonably language-neutral, so it hadn’t been so important.

  “Alright, we’re stuck until then. Here’s another phone. It has some capabilities but is only enabled for the Wi-Fi so you’ll be stuck until it returns. Keep Peter and Pippa here at the house, and once you’ve met with Morrow, I need to know what you’ve learned. Make sure to reinforce they must stay here. Outside the wards simply isn’t safe until we know more.”

  Simon had left shortly after, having met briefly with the Yeux Secondes, and Maxim had considered the little he knew. It simply wasn’t enough, so as much as it grated, he’d kept within the warded footprint of the house and waited for night to fall.

  Sitting with his computer on the coffee table and he on the floor beside the sofa, he was thinking about how to respond to Gregori’s email when the door of the suite opened.

  He knew before Pippa entered that she was there. “You’ve had a good day,” he said.

  She fairly glowed. “Oh, I did. It was wonderful to be working with a crew who love to cook and are so welcoming.”

  For a moment, he felt a thread of jealousy wind through him, then cast it off, understanding that she too needed to find people she meshed with. “I’m glad.”

  “Were you busy today?” she enquired, and he shook his head.

  “I cannot do anything sitting here,” he explained. “The central transcript agency contacted me, and I’m waiting for a final sign-off of my qualifications, but even with that…” He shrugged. “I cannot practice my medical skills here.”

  “Why not?” She cocked her head.

  “Who would I practice on?” He smiled. “Most nests have their own medical personnel, and to be honest, it’s been so long, I would need to…practice.” He stumbled on the final word.

  “That’s a first,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you stumble on a word of English. It’s like you have this bug in your head that allows you to use the language without thought.” She settled herself on the sofa and sighed, eyes closed as she raised her feet to the seat with a groan.

  He laughed at her whimsical description. “Ah, no. I did take English as a course while studying, and years here⁠—”

  “How many years have you been here, Maxim? I feel like I know you so well, but these bits? They’re missing,” Pippa said, and he moved forward, intending only to massage what he imagined were sore feet.

  “Ten years and a bit more. I came from Oblast via China. It was easier that way. Then I took a ship to California and a bus to New York. I was running, and it was sheer luck that I found someone to help me.”

  He thought back to the months when he was still deeply lost in grief. Trying to find somewhere he could hide in safety. He’d heard whispers in the hospital over the years, and it had been luck that brought him to Ellen. It had also given him Niamh, and she would be the one who’d really give him his life back. He was grateful. All that was missing now was a herd and…Pippa.

  “Maxim?”

  He startled, hand curled around her foot, cradling it.

  “What are you thinking about, Maxim? You looked so sad.” Pippa stared at him, and he sighed.

  “When I came here, I was hiding. Hiding from the past and from…from me. I was hurting here,” he said as he thumped his chest.

  “Because of your wife?” she asked, and he saw a quiet sadness in her eyes.

  “Yes. But also, I was lost. I had no family, no safe place. I ran, Pippa. Much like you did from Roger. But until I found Ellen⁠—”

  “Who?”

  He rubbed her feet, trying to work out how to explain Ellen. “She… Ellen is a para too. She helps those who need it, not just my kind, but all sorts. She helps them to find where they need to be, jobs, and even places to live. It was Ellen who found me the job at the hospital. She works there too, and she knew there was an opening. She didn’t press me for anything. Over the years, she became a friend. Then Niamh came along, and she too became a friend.”

  “But you didn’t tell her what you’d been training to do?”

  The act of massaging relieved the stress of memory for him. “No. I wasn’t ready, and I needed to heal myself. Ellen tried many times to assist me to meet with others, to find friends, but…” He shrugged. “I needed to wait until the right time and place, I think.” He glanced up at her and smiled. “Other foot.”

  She sighed as he slid off the shoe and began the massage again. “So, what now?”

  “I want more now. I want things I’d almost forgotten. I want to heal, and I want a mate.”

  She started. “A mate? A friend?”

  He shook his head, capturing her gaze. “No. Fairies have mates, like weres. I have found the one, but she isn’t ready.” He infused his words with the emotions he’d tried so hard to ignore until now. “Until then, I will wait more.”