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I rolled my eyes.
Typical. Whenever anything weird or bad happened around here, everyone always assumed it was a monster’s fault.
It had been five years since the Great Unveiling, when the supernatural creatures of the world were suddenly exposed by a spell that disabled all glamours for a few minutes.
While some monsters were able to cast their own spells to reactivate their illusionary human disguise and protect theiridentity, most were left scrambling to hide their true forms until the glamours reactivated.
But by then, the cat was out of the bag, and humanity knew that monsters walked among us, and had done so for centuries.
Some people accepted it better than others. I was admittedly shocked at first too, but when a childhood friend called me and admitted she was a nymph, I quickly got over it and embraced her for who she was, along with any other monster I met.
Not that I knew many. Most chose to keep their glamour up and only reveal their true selves to those they trusted. But I had at least a few customers who felt comfortable enough to hint that their palette wasn’t entirely human.
Unfortunately, not everyone had accepted monsters the same way, and even a small fire couldn’t start without a bunch of people spreading rumors instead of trying to help matters.
I wondered if the firefighters had even been called yet, or if all the witnesses had been too busy getting the perfect shots for their profiles. I was about to report it myself when three firetrucks roared by a moment later, sirens screaming as they turned a corner down the block.
I glanced back at the pictures being posted, wondering if it was worse than I had initially thought. But each new picture showed that the smoke was already dying down.
It must’ve been a slow day if the firefighters arrived so quickly, and in such a show of force. I guessed that was a positive thing, though. The only fire I wanted to see around here was the one keeping my gumbo warm.
Then it dawned on me. It was nearly noon. Once the firemen finished stomping out the embers, they were sure to be hungry! Three trucks worth of firemen would be a huge payday, and I’d be the only kitchen around to satisfy their hunger.
I rushed to latch the order window shut and secure the bubbling pot of fresh gumbo before hopping into the driver’s seat and starting up the engine. It took a few tries to get the ignition going, but once the truck rumbled to life, I headed for the outskirts of the scene, determined to make this day a win.
Chapter 2
Zoe
I parked my foodtruck down the block from the cannery, taking a moment to survey the damage. The brick building was blackened, but it must’ve been stripped out long ago, as there was little left to burn, and the fire had already been extinguished.
Still, a crowd had gathered, eager to catch a glimpse of the firefighters as they walked the perimeter of the cannery, ensuring there were no further concerns before moving on.
Seeing that the situation was well under control, I slid up the order window and opened the awning, creating a nice shady spot for people to browse the menu if they pleased.
I had the massive pot of gumbo I had cooked up this morning, but it was a good idea to start another pot for the evening crowd, so I prepped my grandma’s secret Creole spice blend, loaded up the smoker with chicken and andouille sausage, then let the savory scents work their magic to lure in potential customers.
Within minutes, the crowd who had originally gathered for the fire began trickling over to my truck, drawn in by the aromas. Soon I was scooping gumbo into paper bowls faster than I could keep track of—a dream come true after such a long dry spell.
It took a good ten minutes of nonstop serving, but eventually I satiated the onlookers and they began dispersing until it was just me and the firemen.
A few firefighters finally spotted me from across the street and started pointing out my truck to their colleagues, and soon a new line formed at my window. But this time, the line was entirely made up of burly men wearing suspenders and holding shiny red helmets under their arms.
Good Lord, they were easy on the eyes, even with their faces smeared in soot. But I tried to focus on the task at hand: serving these fine gentlemen some delicious gumbo.
“Welcome to Miss Gumbo’s,” I said cheerily, giving a friendly wave. “What can I get you guys?”
The man at the front of the line squinted up at my menu, his eyes honing in on a particular offering, which he pointed out to the other men crowding behind him. “How about a bowl of the Firestorm Gumbo?” he asked.
I smiled, knowing the spice levels were off the charts on that particular version of the dish. The name had five red peppers right next to it on the menu, yet everyone who took on the challenge always underestimated just how hot it was. “You sure?” I asked teasingly. “It’s a real kicker.”
The man gave a confident nod and said, “Oh, I’m sure.” He glanced over his shoulder and the men behind him all chimed in, not about to be outdone. He added, “Sounds like they’re all up for the challenge. Make that ten bowls.”
“Coming right up,” I said, doing my best to keep my excitement under control. I loved this variety of gumbo myself, but it took me months to build up the fortitude to handle more than a few spoonfuls of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least a few of these boys shed a tear after they got a taste.
I quickly scooped the fiery gumbo into ten bowls, then topped each one with a dash of filé powder and a sprinkle of fresh cilantro, before handing them off to the man in front. After he made his payment, he passed each bowl along. The men all stood there, each with their gumbo and plastic spoon in hand, waiting to see who was brave enough to take the first bite.
The man in front snickered, mumbling, “Wimps,” before he dug into his bowl and took a hearty bite.
