Page 99 of Death and Donuts

“Come in.”

I peeked in to find them still researching.

“How are you both?” I asked as I stepped inside and closed the door.

Mrs. Hunter leaned back and rubbed at her tired eyes. “We’ve exhausted all our contacts and found no new leads. There are no records of any fae gifting a vampire with another form, so we cannot know what it would take to kill such a magical creature.

“I fear Miles might be lost to us forever.” She sniffled. “Unless we ask Cross to take over the thrall.”

Mr. Hunter frowned. “It would just be another vampire controlling Miles.”

“Except Cross would never control Miles,” I said. “Just think of it as a Plan B worst-case scenario. The first step is finding Adriel.”

Mrs. Hunter nodded.

“When was the last time you ate?” I asked.

They shook their heads as if not knowing.

“Slept?” I asked.

They shook their heads again.

“In bed. Both of you.”

“There’s so much more work,” Mrs. Hunter began.

“You said you’ve exhausted your contacts and research. You need to sleep. Weren’t you the one who lectured Vena and me about the correlation between the brain and lack of sleep? Something about lack of sleep would make us as dimwitted as trolls?”

She sighed and stood with a groan. “I might have. Very well. If you’re going to start quoting me, I can hardly argue with myself.”

Mrs. Hunter gave me a hug before falling into bed with her husband.

I closed the door and went to the dining hall. It was empty at this time of morning, which was exactly what I needed. Taking a seat, I checked my messages from Vena, which were pretty much telling me our house was beyond trashed. Knowing there was little I could do about that, I texted my mom, thanking her for the pictures and wishing them a good time for the remainder of their trip.

What would happen if their trip ended before this nightmare was over?

Restless, I stood. I needed to bake.

I found the kitchen was mostly empty as well. Lisa, the den mother, was in there with the lead cook, Cathy. They glanced at me with friendly smiles.

“You doing okay?” Lisa asked me.

“I need some baking therapy,” I said with a hopeful smile and a plea in my voice.

They both chuckled.

“You can bake to your heart’s content,” Cathy said as she took off her apron. “You know where everything is. Just make sure there’s room for lunch prep in an hour. We’ll need at least one of the prep tables and the cook range today. Otherwise, the kitchen is yours.”

“Thank you.”

Taking an apron from the many that were hung on the wall, I decided to make a dessert that my grandma used to make for me. I needed that bit of nostalgia to get me through the uncertainty.

Time passed quickly as I lost myself in the methodical rhythm that baking provided. By the time I was pulling the grape pie out of the oven, the ladies were arriving to prep the next meal.

I let the dessert cool to the side and stood out of the way as the ladies took their positions and seamlessly began to work together. I was about to offer to help when I felt my phone buzz.

The message wasn’t from any number I knew, which should have been enough to stop me from opening it, but I did. And I felt my heart drop.

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