“Non!” It was emphatic. “My master, ’ee would nevair forgive—”
I made a grab for the cheese, but the guy was faster than he looked. He dodged around the table. I dodged after him.
“Give me that!”
“You cannot eat zees swill!”
“Watch me!”
“Non, non, eet ees moldy!”
“Nice try,” I snarled. That stuff didn’t grow mold. I think mold was afraid of it.
I made a feint and then another one, and finally snatched my sandwich back. It was a little smushed, but it was okay. I took a defiant bite.
“Please.” He resorted to big brown puppy dog eyes. “I beg of you.”
I swallowed, but it wasn’t easy. I remembered my foraging skills as being better than this. “Well, I have to eat something,” I pointed out. “Where did all the food go?”
“Zee fey,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder. “Zey are…zey are not human.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Non, you do not understand. We feed zee ones out in zee garden, yes? And zey eat.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, zey eat! But finally, zey stop.”
“And then you got cocky and decided to fill up the twins,” I guessed.
He nodded. “But zere ees something wrong wiz zem. Zey eat and eat, and zey do not stop.”
“I could have told you that.”
“Mais c’est ne pas possible! Where do zey put it all?”
“Hollow leg?” I offered, sniffing my sandwich. There was definitely something rank in there. Maybe the olive loaf…
The chef was looking at me cunningly. “Eef you do not eat zat,” he wheedled, “I weel make you somesing better.”
“Out of what?”
“Out of…” he looked around in desperation. And spied a half-empty carton of eggs. “Out of les oeufs. I weel make an omelet!”
“An omelet?”
“Yes, yes! Such an omelet I weel make for you!” He waved the hand with the despised cheese in it. “As has nevair been seen. It shall be an omelet of the gods!”
“Will you use that?”
He looked at the small package in his hand. His face crumpled.
“Just kidding,” I told him. “How can I turn down a divine omelet?”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier vamp in my life.
And then I turned around and saw his opposite, peering suspiciously through the glass panes in the kitchen door. I sighed. I briefly considered turning the hose on him, like we used to do for the neighbor’s dog, who kept digging up Claire’s herb garden. But I doubted it would work in this case.
I opened the door instead and stuck my head out. “What?”
“Let me in!” Marlowe said, trying to push past me. And getting the shit zapped out of him by the wards. “Fuck!”