The color shifted in an instant from purple to bright magenta. Out of fucking nowhere, a quick flame rose, kissed the surface, and then vanished.
Toma leaned forward. “How the hell did that happen?”
“That is the magic of Purple Riot." Nyomi shrugged. "We have whiskey for the backbone. Butterfly pea flower for the color.Lime to wake it up. Jalapeño syrup to match his personality. And a few secrets for the magic."
"Damn right." Toma grabbed a glass and slammed the whole thing back in one swallow.
He coughed.
His eyes watered.
He pounded his chest twice. "That is the loudest fucking drink I have ever tasted."
"Pace yourself, Toma."
"I refuse." He grinned and grabbed another. "By the way, I love you."
I frowned.
All tried Purple Riot while more hors d'oeuvres arrived. Servers moved through the draped space in a quiet line with black lacquered platters balanced on their palms.
The first tray stopped in front of me. It was all neat rows of gyoza. Half-moons crimped tight, skins burnished to deep gold where they'd kissed the pan. Each one resting in a shallow puddle of dark dipping sauce.
Kaede lifted one, dipped it, and took a bite.
Others followed.
"Okay. We have a cool rendition of collard greens." She moved around them. "They’re in the gyozas with smoked bacon. Chef Bunzo was a wizard with the sauce."
It was perfectly seasoned and delicious.
Very good, Tora.
The karaage came next, and the smell reached me before the tray did.
Crackling.
Sweet.
That deep, oiled heat that climbed into the sinuses and stayed.
Unable to control myself, I grabbed one fast. The chicken was shatter-crisp and glossed in this honey-bourbon glaze.
Toma crossed the draped space so fast I laughed. “Move. Get out of my way. I want these.”
“Eh!” Kaede got several first. “You back up!”
“We have enough for everyone.” Nyomi gestured for another waitress holding a karaage to go to them.
I popped one into my mouth whole.
Chewed.
Froze.
And then groaned.
You’ve done it again.
