Let Them Eat Stake: A Vampire Chef Novel (13 page)

“Oh, Ms. Lyons, I’m glad you’re here.” I gave her my best smile. “We need your opinion.”

Ms. Lyons’s mouth drew up a little more tightly, and she turned cynical gray eyes on me. “Oh, really?”

“I was hoping you’d taste the tapenade for me.” I set a plate on the marble kitchen island. “Some people prefer things very simple and low-key, and I want to make sure we haven’t made it too spicy. Maybe you could let us know what you think?”

Reese had put together a pretty little plate with samples of all our dayblood hors d’oeuvres, plus a cup holding a few spoonfuls of the blueberry sorbet and vanilla sauce we’d
planned for dessert, and one of the chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies Marie had sent over.

Trudy Lyons stared hard at that plate. For a few long seconds the entirety of my faith in human nature wavered. But at last, she delicately picked up a crostini covered in the rich olive-based spread, bit, chewed, swallowed.

Her eyes widened, and her shoulders sagged for just a second before she snapped back to full attention.

“Ho-ly crap,” she drawled. “That’s good! What’d you put in this stuff? Heroin?”

You never heard Alice on
The Brady Bunch
talk like that. I decided that was a compliment. I also decided that however this woman had become the Aldens’ housekeeper had not been the usual route. “Why don’t you go ahead and finish?” I inched the plate closer to her. “We’ve all got a long night ahead.”

“Well…” Trudy’s gaze drifted to the sorbet and shortbread. Appetite softened her tight face and glaring eyes. Oh, goodness me, the hard-bitten Trudy had a sweet tooth. She was now mine, heart, soul, and taste buds.

She glanced over her shoulder at the door to the dining room. “Just another bite. Adrienne…Mrs. Alden’s about ready to bust a vessel out there as it is.”

Pulling up a stool, Reese gave Trudy one of his lady-killer smiles as he reached over to the waiting coffee thermos to pour her a cup. Trudy gave him a long, appraising look, and we both got to watch her decide she was probably old enough to be his much older sister. She settled back to the food, but not without a certain short but visible moment of regret.

Within five minutes, Trudy had finished her snack, the pucker had entirely left her mouth, and we were all one big happy family. I also had a tray of mixed crostini and a pitcher of sangria all ready to go.

“Reese, give Trudy a hand with these, and see if we can get a final head count for dinner before you fire the steaks.
And ask Mrs. Alden if we’re going to need tea as well as coffee.”

“Yes, Chef.” Reese, who had worked front of house as well as kitchens in his career, balanced a tray on his fingertips. “After you, Ms. Lyons.” He bowed, which is no small trick when carrying a loaded platter one-handed. Ms. Lyons tipped her head, and her eyes flashed, letting him know he was playing with fire. Oh yes, she was ours. I managed to hide my grin by ducking my head and getting back to work.

Steak without potatoes makes no sense to me, so we’d planned a basic mash; fingerling Yukon Gold potatoes, butter, and shredded Parmesan. Reese had gotten the water boiling and the cheese prepped. I pulled the paring knife from my roll and started in peeling little round potatoes.

Footsteps sounded on the back stairs. I glanced over without slowing my knife work. Henri Renault, in full evening dress, gold cane in his hand, and monocle gleaming in his eye, entered through the back door.

“Ah,
bon soir
, Chef Caine,” he said in his Frenchified English. “I was looking for my son Jacques. Have you perchance seen him?”

“I’m afraid not.” Where would he have had time to get to? We weren’t that far past sundown. Hadn’t Mrs. Alden said all three of the nightbloods were staying here? Jacques would have been comatose with the other vampires until at most a half hour ago.

Beyond these thoughts, my attention was uncomfortably taken up by the fact that Henri Renault was not leaving. Instead, he was strolling toward me, tapping his cane thoughtfully against the cupboards. Warning flares fired up inside me.

“Was there something else, Monsieur Renault?” I asked, locking my gaze firmly on my knife and my potatoes. “I’m afraid I’m a little busy right now,” I added, because I had the feeling he was in no mood to catch the subtle hint.

Apparently, he was in no mood to catch the direct hint either. In fact, he was moving closer to me. I couldn’t hear his shoes on the kitchen floor as I’d been able to on the wooden stairs, but in the warm kitchen, it was easy to feel the cold vampires carry around with them. Vampires also tend to have a faint but distinct odor that can be anything from old blood to fresh truffles. Even beneath his cologne, Henri Renault’s was a lot closer to blood. The skin on the back of my neck started to crawl.

What’s taking you so long out there, Reese?
I picked up another potato.

“You are direct, Chef Caine,” Renault purred. “I like that in…”

My hands froze. “You really don’t want to finish that sentence, Monsieur Renault.”

“No, perhaps not.” I heard the smile. He was charmed, and amused.

Time to nip this in the bud. “What are you doing here?”

“I am witnessing the marriage of my favorite son.” Renault said, deliberately misunderstanding and blatantly lying at the same time. Oh, great, a multitasker. “I am also spending time with a beautiful woman.” His voice dropped, becoming silky and inviting. Even more disturbingly, it managed to turn his personal cold front to an air of warmth.

Very carefully, I laid down my paring knife. Renault was right beside me, just out of my line of sight. I felt the pressure of his presence against my thoughts, urging me to lean closer, to yield to his persuasion. His stubby fingers traced a line down my neck. I turned toward that light touch, shifting my eyes slowly as I did, as if about to lock my fascinated gaze with his. I drew a deep breath. Renault smiled. A fang flashed in the track lighting. His dry fingertip dipped beneath the collar of my chef’s coat. I hissed in a little more air and slid my palm across the counter until I touched the handle of my wooden spoon. Renault leaned in close.

I screamed like the Bride of the Creature in a B movie and smacked that spoon across his face.

Renault howled, leapt back, and slammed against the wall. The air filled with the thunder of running feet. A split second later, Reese was leading a charge through the swinging door backed by a full phalanx of Aldens, Maddoxes, and undead party guests.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Brendan shot past the others and caught my hand. I saw murder in his blue eyes. Not for me, of course, but for whoever’d caused me to take up spoons.
I’m okay,
I said silently. He read my assurance and nodded, drawing back just a little. But he didn’t let go of me.

Just then, the handle on the side door rattled, and, I swear, we all jumped and turned at the exact same moment. The door opened. Brendan had his free hand up; so did Deanna and Mrs. Alden.

My not-quite-threatening vampire from the night before pushed his way through the door. “Sorry I’m…”

Jacques Renault saw me recognizing him. He also saw the witches in fighting stance. Then he saw his sire plastered against the wall.

“Late,” Jacques finished. “What have I missed?”

“Where have you been?”
demanded Henri in French, his voice gone high and squeaky from trying to shout and keep out of spoon range at the same time.

“What have you been doing?”
Jacques slid sideways so as not to be directly downrange from the magic-ready Maddoxes.

“I’m going to bleed you both white!”
growled Gabriel as he shoved his way through the pack of my other would-be defenders. “It’s all right. Please,” he said in English as he pushed Deanna’s hands back down from the witch equivalent of
en garde
. “It is all right,
n’est-ce pas, Chef?
”

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m so sorry!” I apologized to the world at large, but I locked eyes with the senior Renault. He needed to know I had no fear of him, or his vamp whammy. “You startled me, Monsieur Renault.”

“Not to worry.” Renault stayed pressed up against the wall as if he hoped it would open at his back and get him a little farther away from me.

“It’s not a good idea to come up behind a chef,” I went on pleasantly. “We get lost in our work.” I pulled away from Brendan and started to stir the boiling water with my wooden spoon as if there were something actually in the
pot. I also ducked my head to hide the complete lack of shame on my face. “Sorry again, Mrs. Alden. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Alden stonily from her position by the swinging door.

“Henri,” said Deanna. “Let’s go out front.” Her tone was even more pleasant than mine had been, and just about as genuine. I also noticed her rub her fingertips together as if they itched. Was it possible the bride-to-be did not get on well with her future sire-in-law? “I’ll get you a glass of sangria.”

“Yes, yes.” With an effort, Henri Renault moved away from the wall and bent down to retrieve his cane. He kept his eyes on me the whole time. “Sangria. An excellent idea.”

“Jacques, you’re coming with us?” asked Gabriel, but there was most definitely an order supporting that question mark.

“Sangria with angry Maddoxes.” Jacques was working very hard on not looking at me. “Delightful. In here?” He was through the swinging door into the dining room almost before I could see him move, and way before I could come up with anything clever to say in front of his present-and-future family about how nice it was to see him again.

And that was pretty much that. Henri bowed to let the ladies precede him out. Gabriel hung back long enough to make sure his sire left with the rest of the party. Brendan, on the other hand, stayed right where he was.

“What actually happened?” Brendan beat Reese to the question by a finely diced second.

I grimaced, thought about telling them about my previous encounter with Jacques, and thought about the delay the explanation would cause in getting the food out to the clients. It’d probably be best to stick with the basics right now. “Turns out Henri Renault is a hands-on kind of nightblood.”

“I’m
surprised he still has hands,” said Reese. I’m sure it was just coincidence that he picked up his big chef’s knife right then.

“I considered it, believe me. I’m
okay
,” I added to Brendan, who was contemplating the door to the dining room. Henri was lucky Brendan’s self-control was a lot better than Deanna’s, or we’d have been sweeping nightblood ashes off the floor. “Renault thought he could roll me, although I’m not sure why he’d bother.”

As I said that, I realized how good a question it was. Why
would
he bother? Maybe there was no reason. Maybe he was just the kind of vampire that treats the ability to walk freely among the living as an invitation to a 24/7 buffet. But taken with Oscar’s all-but-official-paperwork murder, and Jacques’s warning from last night, his actions took on both meaning and import. Oh, joy.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Brendan was lowering his mental hackles, but it was taking a lot of effort.

“I’m sure.” We did need to talk. I had lots he needed to know, but I couldn’t tell him any of it now. I trusted Brendan, truly I did, but it was not reasonable to expect anyone to be able to keep calm ten seconds after learning somebody at the dinner table with him had probably offed the last chef. Besides, my potatoes were going to turn brown if they didn’t get into the water real soon. “You get back up front, make nice with the family, and don’t start a fight.”

“Not even a little one?” I swear to God, he sounded exactly like a disappointed twelve-year-old.

“Are you trying to get me fired? Go.” I folded my arms at him, but at the same time all I wanted to do was hold on to him, because I was not one hundred percent certain I was as okay as all that.

I suspect Brendan knew this, but he just gave me a peck on the cheek and headed out to join the rest of the party. I turned on Reese, but whatever he’d been watching a second before, all his attention was now directed at his precious
steaks. I decided I could let his ghost of a shit-eating grin pass without comment, just this once, and only because we had to get this dinner finished.

I’d found some garden peas at the market. You don’t mess with fresh peas any more than strictly necessary. We just blanched them with a little mint and a little sugar and let them be the wonderful thing they are. So Mrs. Alden wouldn’t start wondering if she was paying out all this money for plain home cooking, we also put together a salad of roasted fennel bulb and Jerusalem artichoke with tangerine vinaigrette. After the steak and potatoes, the sorbet with sauce and Marie’s shortbread would complete the meal for the daybloods. For the nightbloods, Reese and I had settled on a cold veal consommé for starters. It was already in bowls in the fridge, beautifully clear and delicate. Reese had also made up some curried liver pâté (a private wink to Charlie’s kidneys, only much milder and much, much classier). A slice of that would go in the center of the consommé. Then, while the living had their steak course, the nightbloods would enjoy a Polish soup made from duck blood. The base for the blueberry sorbet made a flavorful dessert beverage when combined with whole milk, homemade ice cream, and more orange zest and mint. It maybe wasn’t quite up to Marie’s standard, but it was awfully close.