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Lila twirled around, waved to the receptionist, and marched to the elevator. She sent a few more messages as she walked to Villanueva House, managing to completely clear the backlog before she stepped through the front door.
“Chef?” she called out in the kitchen
“Don’t bellow, Lila,” Chef muttered as she peered around an open cabinet. “It’s not what highborns do.”
“I’m the chief of security. We bellow. We have special permission.”
Chef shook her head and closed the cabinet door, wrapping four loaves of fresh bread in plastic wrap.
Lila peeked through a stack of containers filled with cookies, sugared nuts, and fudge. “This is all for Rosemary?”
Chef averted her eyes. “She’s gotten too thin since she moved out on her own.”
Lila knew without a doubt that Chef was lying. She wouldn’t have made bags of sugar for Rosemary. She would have stocked her fridge with meaty stew and lasagna. “So where are my noshes for the road? I’m to drive hungry? Starving?”
“You’ll spoil your dinner.”
“I’m a grown woman, not a five-year-old. I can’t spoil my—”
“You’re acting like a five-year-old.”
Lila stilled her lips. Protesting at this point would make her sound like a five-year-old. Chef was far too crafty. “Who’s making dinner?”
“Isabel. Everything’s laid out already. She just needs to babysit the soup and assemble the chicken salad. She can’t screw it up, so don’t give me that look.”
“I wasn’t giving you a look.”
Chef handed her a bag to carry, and picked up the rest. “You were giving a look.”
Once in the garage, Lila grabbed the keys for an Adessi sedan, for her silver roadster was too small to accommodate the food. She quickly checked for bugs, then pulled out of the compound.
“Where am I going?”
“Go south,” Chef answered vaguely, adjusting the radio, stopping as someone rapped in French. “Take the interstate.”
Lila pulled onto the road, dodging cars as she stole sidelong glances at Chef in the passenger seat. Finally, she turned down the music. “What can you tell me about the oracles?”
“The oracles? You’ve never shown an interest in the oracles. Why do you want to talk about them now?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Why now?”
Lila drummed her fingers on the wheel. “I’m having a religious experience. Right now. In this car.”
“The gods are speaking to you?”
“Yes. It tickles.”
Chef turned up the music. “We’ll talk about them on the way back,” she said, waving Lila’s questions away. Rotting buildings and fields of bluebonnets flashed past the windows.
Lila shifted in her seat. “Okay, fine. Where am I going, then?”
“South, dear. Just a little farther.”
“Bakery, my ass.”
Just a little farther became a maze of shifting streets that Chef directed her through, almost too late for Lila to navigate properly. Gas stations and mega stores turned into large homes crowded around a lake, which soon turned into a collection of weathered wooden buildings, buildings that looked more like sheds than homes.
