Page 28 of Bite Me

Dacre may think he knows everything about me, but he doesn’t. I know why I want to get into the culinary club, and nothing is going to change that.

Mom, Olive Osborne, was one of the most successful ballerinas in her prime. She would understand why I need to get in. I don’t need her to be here to know she would want this for me.

I type a text to her while I wait in the culinary lounge for Dacre and send it to myself:

I accepted. I’ll fill you in later.

My mom was my best friend as a child, and if she were alive, she’d love hearing about Dacre and the culinary club. She used to take each of my sisters on their own outings for alone time, and she’d always take me to eat at different restaurants, ordering multiple things so I could try them. My mother encouraged creativity and curiosity in all their forms, and though Olivia may be a spitting image of her, with the ballet and the dark hair, I got my own piece of her entirely. We had our own code words, our own handshakes. I could tell her anything, and she made me feel like the most special person in the world. I miss that the most.

“Well, who do we have here?” A man with a large build and full cheeks holds out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met, but my name is Luther.”

I dust myself off and reach for a handshake. “I’m Emma Osborne. I was waiting for Dacre to finish the tour. Verity started showing me the kitchen. It’s beyond anything I imagined.”

I stop because I can feel myself doing the word vomit thing. I’ve been working on controlling my mouth. Olivia used to lecture me a lot when growing up about thinking before I speak, which made me hate her a little bit, but I can admit she was right most of the time. I was telling strangers about our business.

Luther has the same haircut as most of the men here at Doxlothia. Long and expertly gelled on the top, with short, tame sides. His eyes are pure turquoise, and every blink makes my face hot. Plus, he has a cute smile.

“I’ll be happy to show you to your station. You’ve seen the kitchen, right? We’re all delighted to meet someone brave enough to face Dacre.”

“What? Really?”

“Really really.”

He walks me into the kitchen. On the far side, there’s a huge window flanked by birchwood shelves stacked floor to ceiling with potions and the ingredients for making them, as well as vibrant vegetables.

One of the restaurants my mom used to take me to had a huge glass window in the middle, where they would demonstrate the work of potions on different dishes for subtle enhancements. This place reminds me of that, with pristine floors you could eat off, but also life and magic brimming at the edges of the stainless steel.

He spins to face me. “What’s your specialty?”

“Baking and pastry.”

“Ah. Right. I remember Dacre telling me something about you baking in the dining hall.”

My interest is instantly piqued because, one, what does he mean Dacre has mentioned me to people in the club? And two . . .

“What’s his specialty?”

I’ve been curious, but it’s not as if he’ll say a word to me that isn’t an insult.

“You don’t know? He specializes in it all.”

That’s impossible—

“Dacre has been a culinary prodigy since he was a child. He’s been working through each specialty ever since he was young.”

My stomach drops. There was never anything about this in the papers. No articles about Dacre mention that he was a child prodigy!?

“Don’t look so scared,” Luther says, his canines on full display in a wide smile.

He’s so close to me that I feel the heat.

I was never taught how to identify werewolves and vampires without asking, but after being at Doxlothia for a few months, I’m starting to see the signs. Vampires like to step in close. It’s subtle. A step too many.

“Have you ever been to Solexxa House?” he asks.

“No. I’ve been to every house except that one. My sisters are in separate houses, and . . .” I stop myself from saying anything further. Making a good impression is imperative.

“There’s a party this weekend. You should come.” Oh, he’s flirting. At least he sounds like he is.