The Vampire's Pastry Chef (ONC 2022)

6 - Second Rule: Don't Dance With Your Boss

"Ugh, God—that's disgusting!" Jordyn exclaimed as Autumn received a delivery of several pounds of dried pig's blood a few days later. "What are they—vampires?"

Autumn held her breath as she maneuvered the bags of purple-black powder to a safe spot at the back of the kitchen counter. Even sealed, she caught a faint whiff of salmon. How odd. But the staff insisted that this was actually blood and not crumbled-up fish jerky.

"Just eccentric rich people," Autumn explained, staring at the bags. "I mean, look at what celebrities eat—gold-covered steak, pounds of caviar, diamonds, and all those weird protein shakes."

Jordyn curled her lip and flicked through social media at the kitchen island, the teen's signal that she was through with a conversation. Autumn shrugged and pulled out her list, laying it on the counter.

Vampires.

Autumn smiled to herself and shook her head. This world was filled with a lot of strange things, but vampires weren't one of them. Although, she did remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about Romanian vampires, called strigoi. But strigoi, like other incarnations of vampires, couldn't walk around in the sun—and she distinctly remembered seeing Mr Westbrook standing in a patch of sunlight. He didn't seem too troubled nor did she smell anything resembling burning flesh.

"So, I'm going to need you to be my taste-tester," Autumn said, looking at her daughter.

Jordyn's head came up. "You want me to eat blood? Hell no." She made a gagging sound.

"You did before."

Her daughter's brown eyes widened. "When?"

"Do you remember those red velvet cake pops?"

"Ugh! Mom! That's so damn gross! UGH!" Jordyn hopped off the stool and ran from the room while Autumn chuckled to herself. "I can't believe you did that to me!"

Returning to her list, Autumn stared at the three desserts that would have blood in them. She'd start baking those first; everything else was a known quantity and didn't need to be perfected.

As she made some mental calculations, there was a knock on the door. Autumn walked over and saw the tall silhouette of Mr Feldman standing outside. "Hello," she greeted the butler, swinging the door open wide. "Does Mr Westbrook require more cinnamon rolls?"

Mr Feldman chuckled. For the last three days, Autumn had sent up a dozen large cinnamon rolls to her employer. This morning, the girl who came to collect them let it slip that she'd never seen the boss so excited to receive breakfast. The knowledge that Mr Westbrook was eager for something she had created caused Autumn to stammer and blush like a teenage girl.

"No, I believe he is all set." Peering over her shoulder, the butler said, "I see that the blood arrived."

Autumn followed his gaze with a quick glance. "Yes. I plan on making a small batch of the three desserts we discussed earlier and submitting them for Mr Westbrook's approval. That way, if there's anything he'd like me to change, I can easily do it."

"Well, you appear to have everything in order," Mr Feldman replied, nodding.

Autumn leaned on the wall. "There's more, isn't there?" He didn't come all this way to check on her delivery of dried blood.

The butler chuckled. "Very perceptive, Ms Milford. I just need you to come up to the house to look at the station we're setting up for you."

Autumn blinked. "You do?" That wasn't typical behavior as far as she knew. "Most events just set up a table for me and I lay the desserts out." And then get the hell out of there.