Silent Stalker by R.J. Blain

Author:R.J. Blain
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing

ELEVEN

It seems your bride is quite displeased with this news.

Like most of the men in the brood, Ford and Gerry matched society’s general standard for attractive men. Ford embodied everything bodybuilding, likely capable of lifting cars without the benefit of his preternatural strength. Given a pair of pointy ears and longer hair, and he would put most elves to shame, too.

They dove into the board game with delightful enthusiasm, waging a good-natured war with Emerick, while I spent a shameful amount of time admiring the scenery. The dining room, which was connected to the kitchen through a short hallway that branched to the rest of the penthouse, served as their battlefield.

Had I focused more on the game and less on who played the game, I may have stood a better chance of winning. With the three men competing to be the best, I won even when I lost, so I sipped my hot chocolate and wondered who would get lucky and claim victory.

Between rounds of hot chocolate and failing miserably at figuring out who did what to who where, I worked on making potato soup while Emerick’s chicken roasted, tormenting me with the smells coming out of the oven.

So focused on food, I missed the final moments of the game. Emerick’s victorious crowing made it clear he still remained the prime ruler of the penthouse, though.

“I see we’re going to need to start having game nights up here.” I grabbed a spoon to test the broth of my soup, as the last thing I wanted was a bland mush masquerading as soup. Had I done the shopping, I would have gone on an epic hunt for Irish crumble potatoes, a rare treat my father indulged in. Something about them appealed to both me and my father, resulting in a fierce meal-time battle over who got more of the potatoes.

My mother hadn’t appreciated the times Irish crumble potatoes had come into the house.

“Perhaps a weekly gaming night may be a wise choice, especially with the current situation.” Emerick joined me at the counter, checking on the timer and crouching to peek into the oven through the glass window. “I thought about making a dish from my middle age, such as it were, but then I remembered how much it would cost.”

“What dish?” I asked.

Ford and Gerry joined us in the kitchen, and both men grabbed stools to sit at the island.

Gerry rested his elbows on the counter and winked at me. “It’s chicken. He loves chicken, especially when he can transform a fifteen dollar meal into a demonstration of excess.”

According to Emerick’s scowl, Gerry had landed a cruel blow on him. “It’s not just chicken. It’s chicken poached in clarified butter with spices. It takes quite a lot of clarified butter to make such a thing, but the milk solids shouldn’t be in the pot when trying to cook that way, so it must be clarified. It’s quite delicious.”

“It really is,” Gerry agreed. “I was young when that was a trend of the wealthy, and I got to try it once.

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