She was surprised, and mildly confused, when she and the head cook seemed to get along much better that way but she shrugged, simply chalking it up to the oddness and perversity of the mortal human make-up and left it at that. The head cook's antagonism had hurt at first since Tahlea did like her and the amazing meals and desserts that she made with quality and skill but she quickly learned to pay no mind to her, concentrating solely on whatever it was that she was craving at any given moment. Tahlea hadn't missed the pointed look that the woman had given her and she sighed, knowing that she had crossed a line somewhere as far as the cook was concerned although she suspected it was a line that the cook herself had drawn and not an actual rule.Īt any rate, the woman had never passed up an opportunity since to give her a dagger-like look whenever she saw her in the kitchen she made no other comment and flounced off in the opposite direction after making sure that Tahlea wasn't up to any mischief in her kitchen. The woman, though grudgingly, had agreed to allow her to prowl on those evenings when she had her sweet cravings but she wasn't at all happy about it although she stood on Chartreuse's right, standing slightly behind him when he met and talked with the cook, the woman's piercing eyes flickered over to her. Chartreuse, knowing that she sometimes had a craving for sweets that bordered on the incredible, sympathized with her in the matter and later, with Tahlea tagging along, had had a chat with the head cook. There were no exceptions to that rule, regardless of the circumstances and especially not for a late-night sweet run.ĭr. As far as she was concerned, once the kitchen closed for the night, it was closed for the night. She'd been there for over twenty years, ruling the kitchen with an iron fist, and she made no secret of the fact that she considered Tahlea's prowling to be an unwelcome intrusion on what she considered her exclusive territory. Her occasional nocturnal visits to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning sometimes got on the wrong side of the head cook, a large woman dressed in a white tunic and black slacks, with piercing emerald-green eyes and steel-grey hair bound up in a serviceable bun at the nape of her neck. She grinned sheepishly as she thought of it, staring dreamily at the roiling mixture as it twisted and writhed. Chartreuse had made for her when she was sick with a cold a few months ago.Įver since then, she had been craving the thick, honey-sweetened discs and wished that he had the time to make her some more she had an incredibly prolific sweet tooth and, when the mood for sweets overtook her, she was known to prowl in the kitchen, rifling through the ice-box for cake or some other kind of sweet pastry. She wasn't certain that she would have been able to do it but, here in front of her, was the proof that she had succeeded in recreating the purple lozenges that Dr. She smiled in satisfaction, releasing the pent up breath that she had been holding with a loud whoosh, stepping back from the table. As it flowed slowly downward and into the mix, it bubbled and burbled, thin tendrils of purple rising and falling amid the bursting bubbles that lined the churning surface, climbing up the sides of the bottle. Tahlea Grande bit her lip in concentration, working the flesh gently between her teeth as she carefully poured the amethyst-colored liquid gently into the long-necked bottle that lay on top of the platform over the Bunsen burner.
0 kommentar(er)
