Chapter 12 The Carob Cake #2
I turned to face Brok and crossed my arms over my chest. The fabric of the dress pulled tight across my shoulders. “You ruined Nana’s gala,” I said without preamble.
Brok ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Hazel, I’m sorry about the scene—”
“Sorry about the scene?” I repeated in disbelief. “You attacked someone I was on a date with. You embarrassed me. You embarrassed Nana. And for what?”
Behind me, Barnaby made a sound like someone experiencing religious enlightenment. His fork scraped against ceramic.
Any other day, Brok would have likely said something. Now, he didn’t seem to notice at all. “Hazel, I know how it looked—”
“You don’t know anything.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. “You showed up after weeks of silence and immediately decided violence was the answer. What’s unclear about that?”
Brok fidgeted, and I hated that I still found his awkwardness endearing. “There are things happening you don’t know about.”
“Then tell me,” I snapped at him. “I’m an adult. Use words. Explain what’s going on.”
“It’s complicated—”
“Uncomplicate it.”
Brok let out a deep sigh. To my right, Barnaby swallowed loudly. I almost wished he’d finish his cake already. Maybe if I could cut him another slice, I’d have a distraction from this entire disaster.
“There are situations,” Brok finally offered. “Complications that I can’t fully explain right now.”
What? Was he married? Did he belong to the mafia? It would explain the stakeout, though it didn’t fit his gym-bro aesthetic.
“Can’t or won’t?” I insisted.
He hesitated. Just for a second. But I saw it. “Both. And… You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t want an excuse, not really. But to think that he couldn’t even be bothered to provide me with one? “Are you kidding me right—?”
A loud ding echoed through the store, cutting me off mid-sentence. The lights flickered and died. And I almost wanted to burst into tears.
When it rained, it poured. I’d completely forgotten to fix the wiring after the last time this had happened. One more thing to add to my FML list.
The lights turned on again so suddenly I had to shield my eyes. A voice rang out all around us, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. “The challenge begins in three days. The title has no owner.”
Barnaby’s fork clattered against the plate. The sound was too loud in the sudden silence. “Brok!” he squeaked.
The temperature dropped so fast I gasped.
I wrapped my arms around myself, but it didn’t help.
Goosebumps raced up my bare arms. None of this was possible.
The thermostat was set to seventy-two. It had been warm and comfortable when we’d walked in five minutes ago.
Shops didn’t just lose twenty degrees in ten seconds.
“I know,” Brok said, and something about his voice struck me as different. It was heavier. Like it had… substance.
Like a woman in a dream, I blinked away the slight dizziness and looked at him again. And then I saw him.
His skin was green. The color of spring moss or new leaves. His jaw was broader than it had been a second ago. Tusks jutted from his bottom lip. Small but unmistakably sharp. White against all that green. His hands ended in black claws instead of fingernails.
My brain stuttered. I tried to make sense of what my eyes were seeing. Had I deemed the brawl at Nana’s party insane? Wow, I’d been an idiot.
Orc! a voice screeched at the back of my mind. That’s an orc! Like in Lord of the Rings! Straight out of Saruman’s armies.
Why was a supernatural creature in my damn kitchen? I had no idea, but it made as much sense as anything in my life right now.
Brok the Orc took a step toward me. The tiles groaned under his weight. Why hadn’t I realized he was far more massive than a regular bodybuilder? “Hazel—”
“No! Stay away!”
I didn’t think. The plate left my hand, launching the cake across the space between us almost too smoothly. Six feet of distance crossed in less than a second.
It hit him square between the eyes with a wet, satisfying splat.
Frosting exploded outward like a mud bomb. Dark carob smeared across his skin in thick streaks. It caught on his tusks, dripping down his chin in slow rivulets. A huge piece of cake slid down his chest. It left a wide carob trail on the fabric before hitting the floor with a soft thud.
For three full seconds, nobody moved or spoke. Then Barnaby screamed like someone had stabbed him. “The cake! Not the cake!”
He threw himself at Brok with the desperation of someone trying to save a drowning victim. His body crashed into Brok’s leg hard enough to stagger him. “It’s ruined,” he wailed. “Completely destroyed! It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life, and you made her throw it!”
By now, I was used to Barnaby’s attachment to my baked goods. I’d grown accustomed to his dramatic tears. But I’d never seen those tears streaming down fur. I’d never seen him tugging on his long rabbit ears.
I’d never realized that my favorite client was a giant anthropomorphic rabbit. He was wearing a lavender sweater vest and light-up sneakers, sure, but he was a rabbit just the same.
Brok wiped frosting from his eyes with the back of his hand. His green, clawed hand. The motion smeared carob across his cheek in a wide stripe. “Barnaby, I didn’t do anything. She just—”
He made a vague motion and looked at me, with utter confusion on his carob-stained, green face. Something in my chest that had been wound tight for weeks suddenly loosened.
I started laughing.
It started as a small sound. A giggle that bubbled up from somewhere deep in my stomach. It built into something bigger. Something I couldn’t control even when I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“Oh my God.” I gasped for air between laughs. My stomach muscles were cramping. “There’s frosting in your tusks. It’s everywhere.”
I couldn’t finish whatever thought I’d been trying to form. I leaned against the counter to keep myself from falling. If I laughed any harder, I might very well pee myself in the middle of my own kitchen. It was so unhygienic. I would never live it down. I didn’t care even a little bit.
Barnaby huffed, and his pink nose twitched with indignation. “This isn’t funny, Hazel. That cake was art.”
“I know.” Another laugh forced its way out of my throat. “I’m the one who made it.”
It took me a while, but in the end, I managed to get my giggles under control.
I straightened up slowly and wiped tears from my eyes.
My mascara came off on my fingers in black smudges.
I probably looked like a raccoon who’d been through a car wash.
But the anger that had been haunting me for weeks was just gone.
Vanished like it had never existed. Replaced by this strange floating lightness.
I took a shaky breath that hurt my overworked ribs.
The shop still smelled like chocolate and carob and something else now.
Something wild and earthy that I couldn’t quite identify.
The familiar chocolate smell grounded me.
Reminded me this was my space. My work. My shop that I’d built from nothing.
My life had apparently just gotten significantly more complicated than perfecting ganache ratios. But that was all right. This type of secret I could deal with.
“Okay,” I somehow managed to croak out. “I think I have half my answer already, but I’m going to ask the question anyway.”
Bracing myself, I took the final leap into insanity. “What in God’s name are you? What the hell is going on?”