Page 33 of Minions and Magic
Chapter 18
Glenda
Once home I surveyed my kitchen and wrote down everything I wanted to make for the barbeque, deciding what I could prep ahead of time, what needed to be done the night before, and what should be finished right before the barbeque started. Most of the dishes I was preparing would be done tomorrow, but there was a lot of prep work I could do now, including the dry rub for the brisket.
As I chopped vegetables, marinated chicken, and put some meat in the smoker for pulled pork, I kept thinking of Xavier.
He’d come to see me. He’d tracked me down and waited outside Petunia’s to talk to me. Even though I’d accused him of wanting to spy on my brisket recipe, I knew that wasn’t why he had wanted to come over. He missed me. I missed him. We would have such fun cooking together, trying to hide what we were doing as we put together our dry rub ingredients, as we chose what specific pieces of meat we would use for the contest versus the ones that would be served to the other attendees. We’d laugh. We’d flirt. We’d make love.
I wanted to forgive him, to give him another chance—giveusanother chance. I’d do just that, but there needed to be boundaries. It bothered me that he hadn’t even apologized for what he’d done. He didn’t seem to see that there was anything wrong with it at all. I couldn’t be with someone who would hurt me and then shrug it off as being a demon. Bronwyn, Ophelia, and Sylvie wouldn’t put up with that. Cassie most definitely wouldn’t put up with that. She’d given her old boyfriend Marcus dozens of second chances, but as a panther shifter he could never be physically faithful to my sister no matter how much he loved her. Cassie finally ended the relationship. She couldn’t be with someone who wasn’t faithful, and Marcus couldn’t change.
Even if Xavier promised,wouldhe be able to change? I couldn’t build a loving relationship unless he did change, and so far he’d shown no signs of even being willing to entertain the idea.
I’d need to accept him for who he was or walk away. And it was killing me to walk away.
Trying to keep my mind off Xavier, I got to work on the desserts.
Every werewolf would be enthusiastic about any meat dish I prepared, and I was also supplying enough vegetable and grain-based foods to cover the broad tastes of the other Accident residents who would be in attendance. But desserts…those were special. Each werewolf had their favorites, and in keeping with the theme of peace and togetherness, I was determined to provide a sweet that would satisfy each alpha.
Tink had said that Dallas loved pies. Since he was a bit of a traditionalist, I decided to make an apple pie in his honor. I had a dozen incredible recipes, though, and spent hours poring over them, trying to decide which one would wow the womanizing and fierce werewolf. Finally I decided to make two kinds. One would have a buttery, flaky crust and ribbons of caramel sweetening up tart apples. The other would use equally tart apples, but I’d make the crust with some extra sharp cheddar. And just because I was in an apple mood, I hauled three bushels of Golden Delicious apples from the cellar and made applesauce. These apples were a bit watery, but sweet enough that no added sugar was needed. Just a dash of grated cinnamon and a hint of vanilla extract, and the crock of applesauce went into the walk-in fridge.
The sun had set long ago, but I kept working, knowing that if I went to bed I’d only stare at the ceiling for hours thinking of Xavier. Checking on the pork loins in the smoker, I put the applesauce in the fridge, and moved the pies to a rack to cool.
Time to make a cake. Clinton was more modern in his tastes than his father, but he appreciated tradition and in some ways was just as nostalgic. I looked over my recipes, discarding the ones for chocolate fudge with a bittersweet ganache and my favorite old-fashioned carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Finally I settled on a red velvet cake recipe that had been in my family for three generations, and one I knew Clinton loved—Smith Island Cake.
By the time I finished, it was only a few hours until dawn. I debated the merits of getting a bit of sleep or continuing on. The pork loin needed at least three more hours in the smoker, the cakes were cooling on dozens of racks. I’d made the icing for both and had it in the fridge. Deciding I was too wired up to sleep, I peeled and put ten pounds of potatoes on to boil, then pulled the shredded cabbage out of the fridge and went ahead and made the coleslaw. That done, I rinsed the cooked potato cubes and set them aside to cool.
Carrot ginger puree. Coleslaw. Potato salad. Couscous with chopped kale and halved cherry tomatoes. My special salsa with home-made tortilla chips. Brisket, pulled pork, fried chicken, grilled salmon, and two enormous prime ribs. Just thinking of it nearly gave me an anxiety attack. I had less than twenty-four hours to get all this together. There was no time to mope over a sexy demon. There was no time to do anything except cook.
I checked the pork loins and pulled them from the smoker. The salmon would be grilled early Saturday before the event, and the prime ribs would go in the oven tonight to slow-cook. The most time-consuming dish on my list was the chicken, but I wanted to wait until later this afternoon to start breading and frying that.
In the meantime, there was one more alpha I needed to prepare a special dessert for, and she was the most important of all. Tink might not be an official alpha of either pack, but as Dallas’ new mate, her voice carried a lot of authority in his pack. She liked chocolate. And I knew the perfect thing to create in her honor.
Warming three different styles in double boilers on my stove, I began to ice down the giant marble slab where I made my candies. Then I grabbed a set of truffle molds from under the counter. Using a high-quality set of small paint brushes, I coated the molds in chocolate, then put them in the fridge to cool.
I yawned, finally feeling tired enough to sleep, but I couldn’t go to bed now with only half my truffles made. Making a pot of coffee to keep me going, I prepared three different types of cream filling for the truffles. A few cups of coffee later and I’d added the filling to the chilled, chocolate-coated molds, then poured additional chocolate on top to create the candies. They all went back into the fridge.
Even with the coffee, exhaustion was starting to creep over me. I glanced at the clock, realizing I could only squeeze in a three-hour block of sleep before I needed to get to work on the rest of the food. It would have to be enough. I checked on everything I’d prepared, then headed to my bedroom, shedding my clothes as I walked. I don’t remember getting into bed, so I’m sure I was out the moment my head hit the pillow.
And thankfully, I slept without any dreams of sexy demons.
Chapter 19
Glenda
Imaneuvered my van up the steep mountain road, taking care to avoid any ruts or bumps that might disrupt the carefully packed food that filled the entire back of my vehicle. I was operating on that three-hour nap, then another three hours last night. Thankfully a pot of good coffee had revived me in time to finish the chicken, grill the salmon, and get everything loaded. This was a huge catering job for me. It wasn’t the largest or the most complex I’d ever pulled off, but it was the most important. The peace between the werewolf packs and their integration into Accident was a pivotal point in our town’s history. This barbeque cemented what was to be the “new” Accident, the “new” werewolf culture, our future.
And, of course, there was that little matter of the brisket contest and my soul.
The barbeque was to be held in the area of Heartbreak Mountain that Dallas had gifted as public land for all werewolves regardless of pack affiliation or status. The rules were that none could live there, and that applications for use needed to be filed with Barbara at the Sheriff’s office. Barbara was a selkie and her decades of work for Sheriff Oakes made her perfect for keeping the schedule and dealing with any conflicts that might arise. So far the only events on the calendar for Full Moon Forest were this barbeque and the monthly hunts. Everyone seemed uncertain about usage, but I foresaw the land being used for weddings, birthdays, family reunions, and all sorts of celebrations that would welcome not just werewolves, but other Accident residents as well.
Turning a sharp corner in the dirt road, I saw the giant clearing between the trees. Easing my van through the entrance, I pulled over to the spot designated for the buffet line and parked my vehicle. I was the only one here, just me and my van amid a bunch of pop-up tents for shade and twelve lines of long tables with chairs.
I was arriving early, setting up chafing dishes as well as worrying myself into a state of near panic. Had I forgotten the ice cream for the apple pies? Was the refrigeration unit in my van keeping the salads and chocolate cool enough? Did I have enough propane for the smoker I’d trailered in?
Would I lose my soul to a demon today?
I shoved that into the back of my mind. The brisket for the contest was prepped and ready for the smoker. Whatever happened from this point forward was out of my hands. I’d win, or I wouldn’t. And hopefully if I didn’t, my sisters could leverage their relationships and get me the hell equivalent of the white glove treatment.
