Epilogue
“ B ehind!” one of the sous chefs yelled as they carried a large pot of soup to the hatch.
A commis chef dished it into white bowls, then called, “Service!”
That last word never failed to send a flutter of satisfaction through Cemre’s wings. She’d designed a new type of chef’s jacket that protected them from burns and kitchen knives while permitting them enough freedom for comfort. It allowed her to release her emotion instead of keeping it locked up inside – at least, that’s what Ellie had told her when she’d emphasized the importance of letting herself feel her feelings.
Cemre smiled to herself. Ellie’s medicine had done wonders, lifting the permanent cloud that had hovered over her for so many years and letting the sunshine in.
Literal sunshine, too – Ellie had advised plenty of it to ensure a healthy mood. That was why even their kitchen at the back of Il Refettorio had large windows to let in the light. Once Massimo knew Cemre needed it, he’d bashed the holes in the wall himself (after assurance from an engineer that it was safe to do so, of course).
The man himself burst through the double doors with his customary grin. He headed straight for Cemre and kissed her on the cheek. She didn’t miss the tickle of his discarded fake moustache one bit. “Today we are full!”
It didn’t matter that they’d been married a year already; she still got a thrill whenever she saw him. Or touched him. Or heard his voice. There simply was no feeling quite like being irrevocably, unequivocally, and utterly in love.
“Well, Chef,” said Massimo, squeezing her around the waist as she whisked together an aioli, “are you content with the menu for tonight?”
She swivelled her head to give him a quick peck on the chin. “Yes. Tsytryn’s plan to turn that stale bread into a pesto was a great success. I think our patrons will be very pleased with their dinner.”
“And she didn’t even need a pestle and mortar to grind it down,” hollered Gwyn from farther down the bench. “Just her fists.” She chuckled away until a crust pelted her on the back of her head. “Ay, don’t be wasting the good food there, butt – you’re missing the whole point of this place.”
Tsytryn rumbled something unintelligible, and Cemre knew Gwyn would be encountering a fish bone in her shoe or some other innocuous prank by the troll. It was incredible how Tsytryn had relaxed and leaned into her mischievous side now she had the freedom to do the work she loved – as well as friends who egged her on. And Gwyn was the perfect person for the night service, being allergic to sunlight and more than happy to stay until just before sunrise managing the clean-up and preparations for the following morning. Cemre was so grateful they’d both turned down more illustrious offers to join her little enterprise.
It had been frightening at first, trying to figure out how to run a business that gave away food for free, but in the end she and Massimo had come up with the idea to serve free lunch to the needy and open in the evenings to paying patrons. Both meals were made from the produce they collected from the restaurants and shops throughout Wenn, but the income from the evening service covered their bills and the salaries of their ever-growing staff.
They’d furnished the place with comfort in mind – not so fancy their impoverished customers would feel intimidated, yet smart enough to give them the dignity of a real restaurant, not a shabby soup kitchen. Their reputation for outstanding dishes was enough to draw the rich and famous in the evenings, even if the décor was not gilt and velvet like the five-star restaurants in the city.
Massimo divided his time between the kitchen and the front, having a natural aptitude for chatting and laughing with the diners of all backgrounds. Cemre was content to work quietly in the back as head chef, directing her team and ensuring that service was always on time.
Il Refettorio – a Cantuccinian play on words that meant both ‘dining room’ and ‘place to re-make’ - had been such a success that, after the first six months, they’d been able to hire enough chefs to run a free breakfast service too.
And now they could finally get away to visit their family in Cantuccini. There had been plenty of letters and sylph calls back and forth, of course, particularly from Rubella, who took great pleasure in describing absolutely everything in the most hilarious terms. According to Taurine, she and Thumper had been giving their tutors rather a difficult time, but they were happy and making friends and learning Cantuccinian faster than Taurine or Xanthan could.
Taurine sounded happy too. Like Cemre, she had her bad days, but they were both healing and getting stronger by the minute. Umberto had proved his worth to Cemre by ensuring that Taurine got her regular delivery of medicine from Ellie, and he’d even brought Ellie and her family to Cantuccini for a visit so that the medick could assess Taurine’s rooms and routine at the palace for possible improvements. He certainly seemed devoted to his wife’s wellbeing, and Taurine spoke of him as though he’d hung the moon.
“Oh, I forgot to mention there’s another letter from Qori,” said Gwyn. “She’s just finished preparing the curriculum for her school, and they’ve already got a full enrolment, even though the doors don’t open for another four months.”
Cemre clapped her hands, splattering the wall with aioli droplets from the whisk she still held. “I’m so glad! She worked so hard for this.”
“Tsys and I want to go visit next year, after her first semester. She says it’s beautiful there in the spring.”
“Ah, we should visit too!” said Massimo. “Always I have wanted to travel to another continent.”
“I want to go too, but if we all go at once, who will look after the restaurant?” asked Cemre.
Massimo spread his hands and grinned. “We’ll have to train more chefs.”
The locket around Cemre’s neck buzzed. She kept it under her jacket for hygiene reasons and didn’t usually answer when she was working, but her family might be calling for a last-minute request to bring something from Wenn. “Massimo? Could you please?” She held up her mayonnaise-covered hands.
Massimo’s smile went feral, and he slipped the locket out with far more fumbling than necessary. He flicked the switch on the little brass android, and a sylph materialized before them.
“Cemre?” The voice belonged to Taurine. “You haven’t left yet, have you?”
“Our train leaves early tomorrow morning.” It would be the first time she used the Chute – a railway that ran beneath Wenn which had a special service direct to Quellebaguette. From there they would take an overnight sleeping train to Cantuccini. “We’ll be on our way home in a few minutes to finish packing and get to bed on time.”
Massimo huffed irritably. He hated going to bed before midnight, and getting up at dawn was absolute torture.
“Oh good.” The sylph sighed in precisely the same manner as Taurine always did. “I’ve been working on a little project but only got official approval today. It’s a charity for disabled children, among them ones who suffer from anosmia.” Taurine’s sense of smell had gradually been strengthening with the help of medicine and a training program from Ellie, but it hadn’t fully returned. “l want you to bring those recipes I’ve been asking you to write down, all the ones you made for me. And then I want us to compile them into a cookbook, combined with the exercises Ellie gave me, and then we’ll have it printed and distributed to those who need it.”
“Taurine, that’s a wonderful idea!” Cemre’s wings fluttered as concepts for even more recipes sped through her mind. “I can’t wait to work it all out with you!”
“And I can’t wait to see you and hug you as I’ve been longing to do for months!”
The sylph’s mouth moved again, but the voice was Rubella’s and sounded distant. “Don’t forget the lemon drops!”
“They’re in my trunk already,” replied Cemre with a giggle.
“Hooray! Love you!”
“All right, I’ll let you go,” said Taurine. “I don’t want you to oversleep and miss your train. Trains. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Massimo flicked off the android for her and tucked it back into her shirt, taking his time to do so.
With another giggle, she smacked his hand. “Let me finish this aioli, and then we can go. Gwyn, you’ll remember to visit La Fromage tonight? They promised me a crate of rinds.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“And don’t let the shop boy at Carltons tell you they haven’t got any herbs for us. He’s just too lazy to fetch them. Ask to speak to Janice.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Also—”
“Ah, enough talking like a peppermill.” Gwyn took the whisk away and gave Cemre a gentle shove. “Off with you. You’ve got a train to catch.”
Cemre huffed a laugh and gave Gwyn a one-armed hug around the shoulders. “Thank you for taking care of things. I know you and Tsytryn will do a wonderful job.”
She took Massimo’s hand, and they walked towards the changerooms behind the kitchen but were brought up short by the appearance of a glittering goddess.
“Wait, this isn’t the Sordid Boot,” muttered the bewildered muse, but then she caught sight of Cemre and widened her eyes. “Erm . . . because there is a . . . um . . . clurichaun there that needs inspiring. Yes, that’s why I was going to the tavern – to help her make better wine.” Glitter flicked from her hand as she gestured.
“Mel, as happy as I am to see you, you can’t be in here,” scolded Cemre, trying not to snigger at Mel’s blatant embarrassment. “All that glitter will get into the food.”
“Yes, well, I’ve always said life could use more glitz, darling.” She winked at Massimo. “I’m glad to see you two are still as smitten with each other as the first day I threw you together— I mean, the first day you met each other. Completely coincidentally.” She rubbed her temples. “Godes, I must remind that poet to open a window when I’m visiting. All those ink fumes have addled my wits.”
Cemre hugged the goddess, which didn’t help Mel’s bewildered expression at all. “Thank you, Mel. For everything. ” And she winked at her as she pulled away.
Mel beamed at that. “Yes, well . . . I very much enjoyed inspiring you.”
Cemre’s smile faded. “Mel, I’ve always wondered . . . Did I ever . . . you know . . . inspire anyone enough to release magick? I mean, you’re here, so you didn’t die, but . . .” She spread her hands, a habit she’d picked up from her husband.
“Of course you did, sweetheart.” Mel threw a lazy gesture at the busy kitchen behind them. “All of those chefs were inspired by your little venture here. And they’ve been inspiring each other and any other chefs they meet. There’s been magick popping out of this place fast enough to give me a headache. Speaking of which” – she smoothed the sequins on her dress – “where is that gin? I mean inn! That inn where my next protégé awaits.” And she vanished in a flash of gold light.
Cemre released a breath she felt as if she’d been holding for over a year.
Massimo frowned at the puddle of glitter. “I should clean that up before someone trips on it.” He worried his lip with his teeth.
Cemre tapped his cheek softly. “These lips are not for chewing,” she murmured sweetly.
He grinned. “As always, cuoricina, you are right.” And he showed her what lips are really for.