Page 83 of Bite Me

“Do you know where Dacre went?”

“No clue.” Luther smiles, leaning in. “But you can set up your station next to me.”

That’s the last thing I want to do, but my only other choice is all the way at the end of the room, and I want to be front and center for today’s class.

“Distracted?” he asks.

“No. I’ve got it.”

I tighten the belt of my apron.

“He’s sick, I think.”

“Less competition for us, then,” I say, forcing a smile. The only clue we’ve been given about today is that there will be a competition of some kind.

Luther likes that answer. Of course he does. I fight the urge to check the door behind me. Why should I care if he’s sick and misses the class? He’s probably elated, since he hates cooking so much anyway. But maybe I’ll make him something.

If Dacre is sick, I know he doesn’t have anyone else to take care of him or even care about his absence. He’s all alone because his family sucks, and that’s not his fault. Someone should care. If it were me . . . I’d want someone to find me. To meet me in the middle.

“Today, we’re going to start a little healthy competition.” Our instructor rolls in right as the clock strikes nine. Her silver hair is pulled up into a slick ponytail, with round golden frames covering her eyes.

“I’ll choose an ingredient, and I’ll need you to create three dishes. An appetizer, a main course, and a dessert. You’ll have three hours. No more. No less.”

“Yes, Chef,” the room says in unison.

I clench my sweaty palms together. I’ve been practicing everything from braising to brining, but everyone here has years on me. At least I have the upper hand in one category.

I watch as she places a coin in her hand and whispers an enchantment into it, then flips it into the air, and it lands in her palm. Turning it around, it reads: Apple.

Fruit. Good. No, that’s great. Living in Groveshire, we’re surrounded by fruit trees, so I got lots of practice using them in everything from sauces to pastries.

There’s a chiming of a bell, and we break away to the table and shelves full of ingredients.

Verity grabs enchantments and potions. Those still aren’t my strong suit.

This isn’t the time to play it safe. I map out what I’m going to do quickly. I may not know potions, but I do know how to construct a recipe on the fly. I developed a lot of my own in Groveshire because there was literally nothing else to do but create recipes all day long.

The room is nearly silent, apart from the sound of the starter on the stove. It’s okay, Emma, you’re at home making food for your family. You know this.

My hands move on their own as I gather the ingredients and start peeling and chopping apples. I hum quietly to myself as I work through each task. I pick the lullaby Mom used to sing to me, surprisingly cheery in tone. It’s a nervous habit. I glance at Dacre’s empty station. Why do I feel as if I might enjoy this a little more if he were here? Sure, beating anyone in the culinary club would be satisfying, but the thought of beating Dacre makes my hands all tingly with excitement.

There’s a clock on the wall, and every five minutes, it grabs my attention.

I turn toward my oven and nearly run into a man’s chest.

A man who almost looks like Dacre is standing in front of me. This must be a sibling. He’s too young to be his father, but they have the same slender bridge on their nose and green eyes. I’m a little shocked by how tall he is, but also by how much he doesn’t smell like Dacre. It’s not as if I expected them to smell similar, but there’s sterility in his stature and piercing gaze, and it’s nothing like what I see in Dacre’s.

“My apologies.” He holds out his hand to take mine, and I sheepishly show him my dirty fingers.

“Are you . . . related to Dacre?” This is his family’s estate, after all. It makes sense that there would be more Everharts here.

“Yes, I’m Daniel. His older brother. One of two.”

“Dacre didn’t say you were coming.” I say the first thing I can think of.

“It’s a surprise. I’ve been hearing a lot about you. I had to meet you myself. Let’s have dinner.”

I muster something that sounds like agreement. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as he saunters to the rear of the room to watch the rest of the class.