Chapter 5 #2
The industrial-sized kitchen spread out farther than I was prepared for, with shockingly white walls, stainless-steel backsplashes, and gray-tiled flooring.
Between the multiple stovetops, ovens, and stainless-steel fridges, it was obviously meant to be used to cook for the masses—as if this place were a restaurant—not just for a single man.
Confusion percolated inside me yet again at how this eccentric demon lived.
“Theo made cassoulet for dinner tonight, and it was perfection,” Charles said, sweeping over to the nearest fridge. His movements were all wild and akimbo, his body long and slender. He ducked into the fridge and emerged with a massive container.
“Can I help somehow? Grab a bowl?” I asked, heading over to the paste-white cabinets.
“Far right one,” Charles said as he rummaged around to grab a ladle and a spoon as well. I snagged a basic black bowl from the stack, somewhat surprised these weren’t ostentatious as well. After I passed it over to him, Charles ladled some of the soup out and popped it into a microwave.
“Mind if I ask what brought you here in the first place?” His eyes were inquisitive but not cruel.
“Offered myself in place of my father,” I said lightly, as if the truth wouldn’t knock me from my feet. “You know, the usual.”
Charles snorted, and the microwave beeped.
He drew out the soup, which was steaming hot, and the delicious scents of herbs, vegetables, and meat wafted my way.
I supposed one benefit to my revised sentence was that the food would be infinitely better than fighting for scraps in the Pits.
Charles plunked the spoon in and slid the bowl over to me.
“Amelia’s on her way over to brief you.”
“Makes my new position sound very confidential,” I joked, surprising myself that out of everything my dry humor hadn’t quit.
“Clearly, this is a secret agency, and you’ll get your training once Lia arrives.” Charles hopped up on one of the stainless-steel counters, his long legs dangling from the edge. “Except it’s terminally understaffed. The only people Cillian has employed up here are me, Amelia, and Theo.”
“Theo is the chef?” I asked, dipping my spoon into the bean stew. I took a tentative bite, and the flavors exploded in my mouth. I bit back my moan.
“Among other things,” Charles said, a softer note in his voice. I arched a brow, curiosity rising in me again. He grinned. “We’re also together.”
“So it’s not all ominous doom and gloom in this place?” I asked, my heart thudding a little harder.
“Cillian gave you that impression, didn’t he?” Charles teased. “He’s quite dramatic.”
After seeing the fear he’d inspired in so many down below at the casino, Charles’s casual way of speaking about him soothed some of my raw nerves.
While I couldn’t imagine he’d be an easy boss, and I’d seen firsthand the way he could control people’s fates, if there was a way to survive, I’d find it.
If there was a way to escape, I’d find that too.
I inhaled more of the soup, the decadent flavors melding together in my haste to fill my stomach, as Charles swung his legs back and forth, seemingly full of bubbling energy.
The double doors swung open.
“You’re here.” Amelia’s voice announced her as she strode into the room. “I wasn’t sure where Cillian had spirited you away to.”
“I can see how someone could easily get lost,” I commented. “Maybe I should leave a breadcrumb trail next time.”
“Please don’t,” Charles said. “That’d be annoying as fuck to clean up.”
A realization hit me. “Are all his staff humans?”
“Mmm, witch,” Amelia said. “And Theo’s a werewolf. Charles here is our only human. And now you.”
Shame heated my cheeks at the assumption.
“That was rude of me.” Even though I’d been living here for a while, some of my small-town preconceptions had followed me.
It wasn’t that monsters didn’t exist out in Alder…
more that they stayed in separate towns, separate territories.
I’d been told the nursery rhymes of the bogeys, taught the symbols to ward off demons.
The only thing that had saved me from their small-mindedness was the amount I’d read.
It had opened my mind like nothing else.
Amelia shrugged. “As long as you’re not a bigot, we’ll get along just fine. I’m not thin-skinned.”
I stole the final remaining spoonfuls of the cassoulet, my stomach full at this point, even though that didn’t entirely relax me. Not when I was residing in unfamiliar territory and surrounded by unfamiliar people.
“I suppose you’re wanting some parameters?” she asked. “Of course, Cillian left that to me.”
“If you’re launching into a rules talk, I’m out,” Charles said, hopping from his seat. “Nice meeting you, Beau. Try not to fall asleep during Lia’s droning on.”
She rolled her eyes as Charles strode out, and seeing their casual interplay offered a different view of the woman from the cold and formal individual I’d first met.
“Do you want to go somewhere you can sit?” she asked. “Or would you prefer to discuss things here?”
I leaned against the stainless-steel counter, letting the coolness of the metal seep into my lower back. “Here’s fine. Hit me with it.”
Amelia adjusted herself into a straight-backed stance, her legs evenly situated.
“Cillian hasn’t had a personal assistant in a long while, so I’m not quite sure what he expects to do with one now.
My assumption is note-taking during meetings, as his last one did, and sorting the files in his databases, with limited permissions of course. ”
“My phone works,” I stated, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.
“We’re not barbaric, are we?” she said, a light smile tugging on her lips.
“But we do have surveillance on what you send out, so don’t act stupidly.
Try to send SOS messages, and we can just as easily shut your phone access off.
Besides, you’ll be signing a legally binding contract for your employment, so you definitely wouldn’t want to be in breach of that. ”
“Servitude,” I shot back, unable to help myself.
Amelia crooked a brow. “You made the choice yourself.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. She wasn’t wrong. “And I’m allowed free reign up here? What about down below in the casino?”
Amelia let out a sigh. “Up here, you can explore most of the area. Just avoid the West Wing. I’ll email you a layout so you’ve got a clearer picture. As for the casino, you’ll only be able to go there with an escort. The elevators require an identification pass.”
Which I wouldn’t receive because at the end of the day, I was a prisoner.
“If those parameters shift over time, though, I will inform you,” she said, a hint in her tone that implied certain freedoms might be earned.
If I was a good pet. Amelia passed me over a business card.
“And this is my business line, with my private number written on the back. If you have any questions, need anything, please contact me.”
That was a dismissal if anything was. I took the card. “Thanks.”
“Do you need help finding your way back?” she asked.
“Nah, I’ve got it,” I murmured, even though the dread started to creep back in.
With that, Amelia turned and exited the room, the double doors swinging in her wake. I watched the shift of them, and my heart thudded hard.
The fluorescent lights beamed down on me, the stainless-steel fixtures and backsplashes gray and cold, and a chill settled inside me, spreading with rapidity.
While I might’ve clung to the brief notion for a few moments that my time here wouldn’t be intolerable, the truth was, I remained confined. I remained a prisoner.
And the culprit, at the end of the day, was Cillian Ashmore.