Page 38 of Crossroads Magic
“Tell them the kitchen’s closed due to the death of the owner,” I said with a touch of stiffness I hadn’t intended.
Hirom looked contrite. “Sorry. But these aren’t the type of folk you say no to. Not with Broch in the room.”
I blinked. “Who’s Brock?”
“Broch,” he repeated, but he made the end of the name sound like a Scotsman would say it and nodded toward the table of locals by the fire.
I looked at the four men. Benedict, I knew. And Wim. That just left the other two. One of them was a gorgeous looking man in his thirties, with middle eastern features, glossy black hair, black eyes, and a well trimmed beard that outlined his sharp jaw and framed his face.
He wasn’t looking at the new arrivals at all. He seemed to be staring off into the middle of nowhere, his mind far away.
The last one at the table was the well-dressed man with broad shoulders, dark blond hair and very blue eyes. He had a tankard in front of him but he wasn’t drinking. He was, I realized, watching the visitors with a brooding wariness.
Was that Broch, then? What was it about these people that made him wary of them?
Even Benedict and Wim were watching the other tables, in between talking among themselves. Their gazes kept flicking sideways.
The only laughter in the room came from the eight new arrivals. And their laughter was raucous.
Tension filled the room, but I didn’t understand why. Yet it was thick enough that I turned to Hirom, who was just finishing the last of the mugs of beer, and said, “What do they want for lunch?”
“I told ‘em the cook would clock on soon,” he said, his voice low.
“Hey, dude! Hurry up with that round, will ya?” one of the six men called from the table. “You’re done, ain’t ya?”
Hirom’s gaze met mine.
I picked up the tray. “Let me,” I said softly. “Then you don’t have to get down.”
He nodded and I could see the relief in his eyes.
I carried the tray over to the table, and inserted myself between the two women, bent and placed the tray on the table. “Hirom said you’re looking for lunch?”
They distributed the fresh mugs. The woman to my left, who wore a muscle shirt that showed that shedidhave muscles, put her old, empty beer mug down with a solid thump. “We’re hungry.”
“There’s a little shepherd’s pie,” I said, while recalling what was in the cold room. “Or ham and cheese burritos.” Those, I could make quickly, and stuff them with onions and other things that would give them a satisfyingly full feeling.
“Burritos, yeah!” one of the closer men said, wiping froth from his lip. “Damn, this stuff is good…gives you an appetite.”
The other woman looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “What’s shepherd’s pie?”
I explained the ingredients.
“Sheep! Yeah!” the same man said. “I’ll have sheep and mash.”
I suppose it was an accurate, but narrow, description of shepherd’s pie.
The others nominated what they wanted. I limited the pie to only four servings, for skimping on the serving size would not go over well with these people. I knew that without being told, although where the notion came from, I didn’t know. I was certain about it the same way I had been certain that Olivia and Benedict had both lied to me.
So, four servings of sheep-and-mash, and four burritos. Or perhaps four servings of two burritos each. It would depend on the tortilla sizes and what I could find to put in them.
I took the tray back to the bar. “Keep them happy,” I told Hirom. “I’ll cook lunch.”
He looked inordinately pleased about that, and nodded.
I hurried into the kitchen. The smell of food going off was even stronger, now, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I got the griddle going—just one side of it, grabbed everything I needed from the cold room, and dumped it on the side counter near the griddle, where there was at least enough room to put it. I pushed a lot of stuff aside to make even more room, and got to work.
Burritos are loved by almost everyone, especially if you put enough cheese in them. I also liked to smear garlic over the outside of the wrap, so the garlic matured and flavored the tortilla as it cooked, which gave it an extra dollop of umami. Normally, I would ration out the cheese and ham, so the burrito would be economical, and earn a margin of profit, but not this time. I had been caught off guard. I could figure out later the measures and scale weight portions that wouldn’t send the kitchen broke.
