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Daruka managedto avoid me until Thursday. Well, Wednesday night, shortly after midnight, to be precise.
Tomorrow was Wild Boar Thursday, a meal that took quite a long time to prepare when done right. Eighteen hours, actually.
Due to the long prep time, all the students in all the cooking classes took turns making this meal. There was a sign-up sheet posted right inside the kitchen door, a fact I figured Daruka hadn’t realized yet, since her name wasn’t on it. Until Wednesday, after lunch. And then I added it, right next to mine.
I pointed out her name on the list to Professor Holtsclaw at 12:15, when Daruka hadn’t yet shown up for the shift she didn’t even know she was supposed to work.
Ten minutes later, a disheveled Daruka—I desperately hoped she’d been sleeping and not doing other activities—stomped into the kitchen, took one look at me, turned on her heel, and slammed into Professor Holtsclaw, sending the professor’s beads and shells clattering.
“Uh-uh,” Daruka said. “I’m not working withhim.”
“Would you rather fail this course, Miss Montreau?” Professor Holtsclaw cast a swift glance at her watch.
I also happened to know that Professor Holtsclaw had a standing date every other Wednesday evening. Which was why she tended to prefer the more advanced kids work those shifts so she didn’t have to be here, making sure we didn’t burn the place down. No idea who her date was with, only that every other Thursday, when she showed up for her morning class, she looked both dreamy and exhausted and her braids were always a little off kilter.
“Yep,” Daruka said. “I’m totally fine with that.”
Professor Holtsclaw frowned. “What about all those other students, Miss Montreau? Aren’t you sick of them looking at you like you’re a pariah? Whispering about you behind your back? If you do this meal well—which I am sure you will, considering Mr. Asmoday has taken this class for six years now—I do expect you will win a small modicum of respect. If you do it poorly…”
“Ugh, fine. What do I need to do?” Clearly, Daruka cared more about what others thought than she was normally willing to let on.
Professor Holtsclaw glanced at her watch again and pointed at me. “Just do whatever he says. I’ll be back to check on you shortly before the Thursday breakfast class starts.”
And then she was gone.
Daruka narrowed her eyes. “This was all planned, wasn’t it?”
“Yep,” I said, rocking on my heels. “Totally and completely. Right down to the fact that there aren’t any kobolds on duty for the next few hours.”
“You’re such a creep.”
“I’d say I’m more desperate than creepy.”
“A desperate lust demon? That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.”
I handed her an apron. “Come with me.”
She followed me into the smoke room. It was more or less a lean-to shed that had been built next to the kitchen for exactly this task. A combination of magic and smokestacks kept the smoke from permeating the room and drifting into the kitchen.
There were four smokers and four brick ovens with spits. Whoever was cooking got to choose whether to smoke or spit-roast the pigs. I’d decided on smoking for tomorrow’s dinner. Less work. My plans for the evening did not include basting a bunch of pigs every few hours.
I’d already filled the smokers with wood chips and warmed them up. The pig carcasses were resting on a stainless steel table in the middle of the room, ready to be prepped and slid into the smokers.
After that, we’d have all night to work through our issues and get ourselves back on even footing.
“Come stand across from me,” I said, even though I’d rather her be right by my side. But I knew having the table between us would give her a sense of control. And she needed to feel like she was in control.
Although when I’d held her wrists above her head in that alley, she’d been practically butter in my hands, so maybe that control didn’t extend into the bedroom.
Definitely something I hoped to find out one of these days. Probably not tonight, though. Tonight, I just wanted to figure out how to become friends.
Because not talking to Daruka at all was damn near killing me.
“Do you want to spread the olive oil or the spices?” I asked, nodding at a bottle of oil and a bowl of spices I’d already mixed together.
Professor Holtsclaw wasn’t wrong; I’d become a hell of a chef over the last six years.
Daruka eyed the display. “Which do you prefer?”
