Blind Tiger
Page 33
When we’d finished our soup, Brandt and Drew cleared our bowls while Naveen and Lachlan brought the next course in shallowly curved plates from the kitchen. “This is a kale salad with candied pecans and pomegranates, served in a cucumber ‘bowl’.” Knox informed us.
The dish was so beautiful I wasn’t sure how to eat it without tearing it apart, until I watched Titus cut his “bowl” open with his fork.
“Do you think Corey will be able to eat with us tomorrow night?” I asked as I carefully speared a chunk of candied pecan. “Or will he already be gone by then? How long do new strays have to stay here?”
“I think you mean, how long do they get to stay here,” Brandt said around a mouthful of kale. “And the answer, in my case, is ‘indefinitely.’”
Naveen rolled his eyes at the kid. “Most of them are ready to go home by the time they’re able, so we keep pretty close tabs on them for a while afterward, to make sure they know they’re not alone. Morris might be ready to join us tomorrow. He’s already shifted, right?”
Titus nodded. “A few hours ago.”
“So soon we’ll be able to smell his infector’s scent. How does that work?” I asked.
Drew set his fork on the edge of his plate so he could gesture with his hands. “Picture a scent as a woman’s hair braid. Or Lochlan’s.”
Loch flipped Drew off while everyone else chuckled.
“Anyway, a braid is made up of multiple strands, right?”
“Yes.” My sister and I had grown up braiding each other’s hair, and the memory made me miss her. “Three of them, in a standard braid.”
“Okay, but each of those strands is made up of hundreds of individual hairs, right? In this analogy, each of those individual hairs is an element of the scent. The infector’s scent is like a ribbon woven into the braid. Something thin. Like, a strand of yarn. It’s thicker than the individual hairs, but a very small part of the overall bouquet. It’s difficult to detect at all, if you aren’t already familiar with the infector’s scent.”
“So, what happens if you are?” I asked as Drew rose to clear my empty salad plate. “You go round him up?”
“Yes.” Lochlan came in from the kitchen carrying two plates. He slid one onto the service plate in front of me and the other in front of Spencer, on my right. “For questioning, at the very least.”
“Knox, this looks amazing!” Titus said, and I had to fight not to pick up my fork and knife until everyone had been served.
“Thank you. Tomorrow night we’re ordering pizza.” Knox cleared his throat as Lochlan and Naveen sat in front of their own entrees. “Tonight’s main course is an Indian-style leg of lamb with Dijon-glazed carrots and roasted baby leeks with bacon. Bon appetite.”
I cut into my lamb to find it perfectly cooked and tender. “So, when you go after infectors, are they usually just waiting for you? I mean, don’t they know infection is a crime?”
Drew groaned with pleasure as he cut into his meat. “The ones whose scents we recognize know that infection is a crime, because we taught them that. If we hadn’t already had contact with them, we wouldn’t recognize their scents.”
“Sometimes they’re already on the run before we get there,” Lochlan added with a speared hunk of carrot halfway to his mouth. “Sometimes they have no idea we’re coming.”
“From what I understand, if the infection was an accident, you try to rehabilitate the infector, for lack of a better word. Right?” I asked.
Drew nodded while he chewed.
“It’s more like behavioral counseling,” Naveen elaborated, and Knox snorted.
I cut another tender hunk from my lamb. “What if the infection wasn’t an accident?”
Utensils went still all around the table. Men stopped chewing. Everyone looked my way. Then their gazes slid toward Titus.
“Unfortunately, sometimes by the time we get there, circumstances have created an unwell state of mind beyond anything we’re equipped to deal with. Delusions. Uncontrollable rage. An inability to cope with the sudden onslaught of feline instincts and territorial impulses. And every now and then, a stray turns out to be a bad apple for no reason involving his infection. When that happens, we have to execute.”
“You put him to death?”
“In as humane a manner possible,” Drew said. “For the greater good. To protect us all.”
“Who—” I cleared my throat. Lamb that had been delicious seconds before had suddenly lost all taste. Would I have been executed for my crimes if I’d committed them in the free zone? And if I’d been a man? “Who does it?”
“It’s always either Drew or me,” Titus said. “Or sometimes Jace. We can’t ask the other men to do a job we’re not willing to take on ourselves, as leaders, and the emotional burden of carrying out an execution… Well, it’s not something to be taken lightly.”
“And on that note…” Knox stood with his plate. “It’s time for dessert.”
Again, Drew and Brandt cleared the dishes—including the service plate—while Loch and Naveen helped Knox bring out our final course. Titus poured sherry as the dessert wine, but Spencer and I—both guests—were not allowed to help with anything.
Dessert turned out to be crème brûlée, in the very dishes I’d seen Knox toasting earlier.
“There’s a plate for Morris on the kitchen island,” he said as he set the final dish in front of Titus. “When we’re done, Spencer, you’re welcome to take it out to him.”
“Not on my mother’s china,” Titus insisted.
Knox rolled his eyes. “It’s on a paper plate.”
I’d never had crème brûlée before, and I had to watch the others break the sugary crust on top to be sure that’s what I was supposed to do. When the first bite nearly melted on my tongue, I realized that my own culinary skills weren’t up to the challenge and I wondered if I could achieve the same effect by taking a lit match to the top of a vanilla pudding cup.
After dinner, I brushed off a chorus of objections as I helped carry the dishes to the kitchen, where I found Titus at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, elbows deep in steaming sudsy water.
The dish was so beautiful I wasn’t sure how to eat it without tearing it apart, until I watched Titus cut his “bowl” open with his fork.
“Do you think Corey will be able to eat with us tomorrow night?” I asked as I carefully speared a chunk of candied pecan. “Or will he already be gone by then? How long do new strays have to stay here?”
“I think you mean, how long do they get to stay here,” Brandt said around a mouthful of kale. “And the answer, in my case, is ‘indefinitely.’”
Naveen rolled his eyes at the kid. “Most of them are ready to go home by the time they’re able, so we keep pretty close tabs on them for a while afterward, to make sure they know they’re not alone. Morris might be ready to join us tomorrow. He’s already shifted, right?”
Titus nodded. “A few hours ago.”
“So soon we’ll be able to smell his infector’s scent. How does that work?” I asked.
Drew set his fork on the edge of his plate so he could gesture with his hands. “Picture a scent as a woman’s hair braid. Or Lochlan’s.”
Loch flipped Drew off while everyone else chuckled.
“Anyway, a braid is made up of multiple strands, right?”
“Yes.” My sister and I had grown up braiding each other’s hair, and the memory made me miss her. “Three of them, in a standard braid.”
“Okay, but each of those strands is made up of hundreds of individual hairs, right? In this analogy, each of those individual hairs is an element of the scent. The infector’s scent is like a ribbon woven into the braid. Something thin. Like, a strand of yarn. It’s thicker than the individual hairs, but a very small part of the overall bouquet. It’s difficult to detect at all, if you aren’t already familiar with the infector’s scent.”
“So, what happens if you are?” I asked as Drew rose to clear my empty salad plate. “You go round him up?”
“Yes.” Lochlan came in from the kitchen carrying two plates. He slid one onto the service plate in front of me and the other in front of Spencer, on my right. “For questioning, at the very least.”
“Knox, this looks amazing!” Titus said, and I had to fight not to pick up my fork and knife until everyone had been served.
“Thank you. Tomorrow night we’re ordering pizza.” Knox cleared his throat as Lochlan and Naveen sat in front of their own entrees. “Tonight’s main course is an Indian-style leg of lamb with Dijon-glazed carrots and roasted baby leeks with bacon. Bon appetite.”
I cut into my lamb to find it perfectly cooked and tender. “So, when you go after infectors, are they usually just waiting for you? I mean, don’t they know infection is a crime?”
Drew groaned with pleasure as he cut into his meat. “The ones whose scents we recognize know that infection is a crime, because we taught them that. If we hadn’t already had contact with them, we wouldn’t recognize their scents.”
“Sometimes they’re already on the run before we get there,” Lochlan added with a speared hunk of carrot halfway to his mouth. “Sometimes they have no idea we’re coming.”
“From what I understand, if the infection was an accident, you try to rehabilitate the infector, for lack of a better word. Right?” I asked.
Drew nodded while he chewed.
“It’s more like behavioral counseling,” Naveen elaborated, and Knox snorted.
I cut another tender hunk from my lamb. “What if the infection wasn’t an accident?”
Utensils went still all around the table. Men stopped chewing. Everyone looked my way. Then their gazes slid toward Titus.
“Unfortunately, sometimes by the time we get there, circumstances have created an unwell state of mind beyond anything we’re equipped to deal with. Delusions. Uncontrollable rage. An inability to cope with the sudden onslaught of feline instincts and territorial impulses. And every now and then, a stray turns out to be a bad apple for no reason involving his infection. When that happens, we have to execute.”
“You put him to death?”
“In as humane a manner possible,” Drew said. “For the greater good. To protect us all.”
“Who—” I cleared my throat. Lamb that had been delicious seconds before had suddenly lost all taste. Would I have been executed for my crimes if I’d committed them in the free zone? And if I’d been a man? “Who does it?”
“It’s always either Drew or me,” Titus said. “Or sometimes Jace. We can’t ask the other men to do a job we’re not willing to take on ourselves, as leaders, and the emotional burden of carrying out an execution… Well, it’s not something to be taken lightly.”
“And on that note…” Knox stood with his plate. “It’s time for dessert.”
Again, Drew and Brandt cleared the dishes—including the service plate—while Loch and Naveen helped Knox bring out our final course. Titus poured sherry as the dessert wine, but Spencer and I—both guests—were not allowed to help with anything.
Dessert turned out to be crème brûlée, in the very dishes I’d seen Knox toasting earlier.
“There’s a plate for Morris on the kitchen island,” he said as he set the final dish in front of Titus. “When we’re done, Spencer, you’re welcome to take it out to him.”
“Not on my mother’s china,” Titus insisted.
Knox rolled his eyes. “It’s on a paper plate.”
I’d never had crème brûlée before, and I had to watch the others break the sugary crust on top to be sure that’s what I was supposed to do. When the first bite nearly melted on my tongue, I realized that my own culinary skills weren’t up to the challenge and I wondered if I could achieve the same effect by taking a lit match to the top of a vanilla pudding cup.
After dinner, I brushed off a chorus of objections as I helped carry the dishes to the kitchen, where I found Titus at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, elbows deep in steaming sudsy water.
