Arty was not a small man. He stood nearly two inches taller than Archie and had at least forty pounds on him. He kept in good shape—better shape than most men ten years his junior. And above all else, he just seemed big. Perhaps it was the shape of his shoulders or perhaps his posture or perhaps just having always been so important to Archie. Something made him seem larger than he was.

And yet Waldorf towered two feet over him. Arty shriveled next to the Glutton, everything about him seeming small. Waldorf's hand covered the entirety of Arty's shoulder.

"We were just talking about…what was it?" Waldorf asked in his uneven, echoed, warbling voice. "The Tamani tree?"

"That's right," Arty mumbled.

Archie looked around the kitchen. Marje and Tammy cooked with their backs turned, having moved together as if to protect each other. Andy worked faster than ever, managing seven pans while never taking his eyes off of Waldorf. Archie recognized the two other Chefs that had joined them, Melo and Honovi, two fighters from The Serving Bowl who leaned casually against the wall. With Gristle manning the backdoor, he was sure a fourth fighter guarded the front. They were boxed in, and Waldorf's presence pushed them against the boundaries of that box and suffocated them.

And no one looked to be suffocating more than Arty.

"What's that you have there?" Waldorf nodded at Archie.

"Um—it's—um, red onion. For my dad."

"What an interesting essence it has. Well, don't let me stop you." Waldorf took a step away.

Archie meant to step forward, but his legs wouldn't move. Something deep within him wouldn't allow it. His heart raced, and the massive room faded away, leaving only a thin strip of kitchen between Archie and Waldorf. The windows blackened to nothing, leaving him in a place without time. The shackle chafed his ankle. His broken ribs ached with every breath. His crushed and cut up hand stung against the onion. The room shrank and shrank and Archie's heart raced and raced and Waldorf's gaze pierced his skin and dread filled him up like a balloon ready to burst. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't see. He was trapped again and no one was coming to save him.

Blanche's body brushed against his back as she hid behind him.

And then he was okay. His fear took on a different shape—the same shape that it had taken in the cave in Khala. He was terrified, but he was strong. He had someone that needed him to be. He stepped forward and handed his father the onion. The two looked at each other, unspoken words bolstering them. Promising them that they would get through this.

Waldorf's gaze did not follow Archie. Instead, it lingered on Blanche, who shriveled up like a wilted flower. "I thought it was the onion," Waldorf said. "But it was you."

Archie's heart started racing again. His fists shook as he clenched them. Honovi removed himself from the wall and stood up straight. Archie realized how quickly things could escalate. He straightened his hands but kept them full of essence.

"There is something unique about your essence," Waldorf said. His face displayed a hunger that made Archie's skin crawl. Blanche winced and closed her eyes as if suffering a nightmare that she could wake up from.

Waldorf moved toward her, starting the chain reaction. Blanche cowered. Archie moved his hands together, one carrying the essence of a noodle, the other carrying the essence of a blueberry. Arty recognized the movement and tensed. Heat spilled from Honovi's hands as he moved into Archie's sightline. Melo moved to flank.

"Hoowee, this smells good!" Andy hollered. He tossed bacon in a pan, each shake producing a tremendous smell. "Hey Prince Waldorf, you ever had maque choux?"

Waldorf turned and looked at Andy with confusion. "A shoe?"

"Maque choux," Andy corrected. "Ol' native meal with a Bayuk spin. Comon, lemme show you."

Waldorf took another look at Blanche, requiring him to rotate his entire body to point his neckless face, then twisted back to Andy. As appetizing as Blanche might have looked to him, he couldn't risk the allure of frying bacon.

Andy used a spatula to get the bacon out of the pan, setting half of it aside on a plate. "That's for you."

Waldorf scooped up the bacon in one hand and slurped them out one at a time like noodles. If it burned him, he didn't show it.

"Alright, Prince Waldorf, whatchu know 'bout that holy trinity?"

With Waldorf distracted, Archie relaxed and Blanche rushed over to him. Melo rested against the wall again. Honovi joined him a moment later, but he smiled at Archie, daring him to try something. Andy made enough noise to fill the room as he husked roasted corn and showed Waldorf how to get corn milk.

"You okay?" Archie asked Blanche. She nodded, but her eyes said otherwise.

Arty took a deep breath and started cutting the onion. "I could hardly cook with him there. He's…my essence…"

Archie looked at Arty's pizza creation. It was an abomination. Barely-cooked shrimp and sausage were mixed with uncooked mushrooms and peppers on top of red sauce, and raw red onions were being added one slice at a time. "What is this?" Archie asked.

"Bayuk-style andouille shrimp pizza."

Even in Waldorf's horrifying presence, Archie managed a chuckle. "It looks awful."

Arty laughed, and Archie swore the light shone in through the windows a little brighter. "It'll be good once it's cooked." Arty brushed off his hands and admired his work. "I think it's ready for the oven."

"Mmm!" Waldorf moaned loudly enough to make Archie jump. He shoved an entire serving spoon in his mouth and sucked it clean. "Chef Andouille, you must cook for me before you leave!"

Andy laughed. Of everyone in the room, he was the only one that hadn't let his composure crack even a little. "Call me Andy! And of course, Prince Waldorf. Although, I'm leavin' tomorrow. Maybe I can swing by for an early lunch. You ever had pecan pralines? Ah, why don't I make 'em for you real quick right here."

Archie looked from Waldorf back to his father. "Make it bad," he whispered.

Arty scoffed. "What?"

"Make it bad." Archie reached for the pizza, but Arty blocked him. "Make it bad. You need to make it bad."

Arty held Archie's arm. "Calm down. What do you mean?"

"He can't like it. He can't like your cooking. He'll keep you. He'll—"

"Archie." Arty tightened his grip. "It'll be okay. If I make it poorly, I might be making an enemy."

"Don't make it too good."

"I'm flattered that you think I could," Arty chuckled as he took the pizza to the oven. Instead of simply depositing the pizza, he stayed with it and worked his magic. Flames swelled and swirled around his hands, and Archie cursed under his breath at his father's flashiness.

Luckily, Andy kept Waldorf occupied. For the next several minutes, he made food almost as quickly as Waldorf could eat it. It was one of the most impressive things Archie had seen in the kitchen, vegetables diced in the blink of an eye, sauces reduced in a breath, meat seared in a flash, full meals made in a moment. Anytime there was a lull and Waldorf's attention wandered to another Chef, Andy would holler in his thickest Bayuk accent and make flames leap up ten feet from the stove.

Fearing being seen idle in the kitchen, Archie led Blanche to Marje and Tammy and made small talk as best as they could under such pressure. Tammy in particular seemed to grow thin in Waldorf's presence, requiring Archie to help with a red curry as Blanche attended the shrimp.

Everything seemed to take twice as much essence. However much he willfully let out into an ingredient, the same amount slipped out of him into the air. He grew weak but put on a tough face for Blanche, who had been reduced to miming cooking, her spatula hovering an inch over the pan.

Archie looked over at Andy. The White Jacket had removed his beret and used it to sop up as much sweat as it could hold—which was not enough. His collar was soaked five inches from his neck, and although he maintained his charming, never-ending conversation, he had to put one hand on the counter to steady himself. Meanwhile, Waldorf stood on the other side of the counter, barely managing to wait for Andy's next dish. Archie swore the Glutton had grown since he walked in.

And then Andy started to slow down. He got quiet.

Waldorf wandered.

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"What have we here?" he asked as he approached Marje. Blanche shuffled away, but Marje stood her ground.

"A trio of classic Labruscan desserts. Here we have a variety of macarons—"

Waldorf snatched the neat pile of macarons with one swipe, not caring to hear about their different colors and flavors. Archie couldn't look away. He watched as Waldorf's oddly rectangular teeth mashed the delicate desserts with a beast's roughness.

"Delicious. But light."

Marje brushed her eyebrow, perhaps concealing a momentary break. She continued. "And here we have apple tart."

The dessert was a work of art, perfectly placed and cooked apple slices layered over each other tightly like fish scales. Waldorf did not care. He broke the tart like a cracker and ate each half in two bites, using his finger to scrape up whatever fell on the counter. He licked his fingers between words. "Good—but—what—apple?"

"I believe it was a Russamel apple," Marje answered. Archie was grateful that she didn't look to him to confirm.

"Mmm." Waldorf looked at his wet finger and frowned. "The next time you cook for me, I'll supply the apples."

Marje twitched and forced a smile. "It'd be an honor."

"One of my private cultivators has made a breakthrough recently," Waldorf continued. "He's asked to call it a Waldorf apple. And I might let him, it's that good. Each tree can only grow one apple per season, and they take nearly triple the water as a normal tree. I've had to divert one of the streams that ran along the outskirts of the Roots. But it's worth it. What's next?"

Marje brushed her eyebrow again. Her voice lost its music. "A chocolate souffle."

Waldorf ate half of it in a spoonful and looked around. "No vanilla?"

"Would you have preferred vanilla?" Marje asked harshly. Too harshly. She winced and closed her eyes.

Waldorf waited for her to open them. When she did, he had leaned over the counter to be just a foot from her face. "I would have preferred to have both."

He ate the rest of the souffle without joy and turned to Tammy. Whereas Marje had made it halfway through her presentation before folding, Tammy was already a doormat. She shook as she pushed forward the single bowl that she had made.

"I—I made a—uh, a red curry shrimp. With coconut."

Waldorf stared at the beautiful orange liquid with its pools of white coconut milk and dashes of green lime wedges and cilantro, a grin creeping on his face. "South Urokan. You're from Kodoloun, aren't you?"

Tammy managed to temper her shaking down to a nod.

Waldorf chuckled, a hollow, sinister sound that bounced around in his chest. "I've been meaning to visit Kodoloun. My father visits every year, you know? I've always wanted to see what brings him there so often."

"It—it's a lo—lo—ovely place," Tammy stammered.

"Hm." Waldorf pulled the little spoon out of the bowl and tossed it aside. He took the large wooden spoon from Tammy's pot, scooped up a sizable bite, and held it just before his lips. Archie had never seen the Glutton pause in eating. Waldorf narrowed his eyes at Tammy. "He doesn't go to Kodoloun to see you, does he?"

Tammy gulped. "N—no. I don't—I've—"

"You've cooked for him?"

"Ye—yes, once."

"Did you come here to cook for him?"

"N—no."

"Why did you come?"

The barrage of questions was too much for Tammy. She closed her eyes and motioned at Marje, who came to her rescue. "We come to the Summit every year to see each other," the Labruscan Chef answered. "We cooked together as students. I did two years at the Institute, she did two at Lyceum Labrusca. Even after all these years, we never cook better than when we're together."

"Hm." Waldorf looked back and forth between the two, his eyes stopping to linger on Blanche. He shoved the spoon in his mouth, and the skeptical look was wiped from his face. He smiled, the cheery disposition returning to his voice. "You two must open a restaurant together in Ambrosia City. I'll pay for its construction and sponsor you through your first year."

He looked at Tammy, but the Urokan Chef didn't respond. His smile turned to clenched teeth.

"How very generous," Marje said. "We might take you up on that offer."

Waldorf's face lightened, and he turned to Archie. "Have you not prepared anything?"

Archie's lips moved, but his words stuck on his throat. He hit his chest to force a cough, which did no favors to his racing heart. "I—um, not today."

"I'd be curious to see what you could do. I've never had your cooking…"

Archie's chest squeezed his breath out of him in a sorry excuse of a sigh. He had gone a summer without worrying about Waldorf, but now he knew he'd always live in fear of the day Waldorf remembered.

Waldorf scratched an ear. "…have I?"

Archie tried and failed to swallow. "Uh, no. Not yet."

Waldorf looked at the ceiling with a slack jaw, the phantom of a memory haunting him. "I feel like…"

"Pizza's ready!" Arty said, grabbing Waldorf's attention. He sliced as he spoke. "I cooked it Platter-style, so we have the Labruscan base, pizza. Bed of tomato sauce. Mushrooms. And then we go north across the bay to get some Kuutsan using andouille sausage and the spice blend Andy taught me. And then the shrimp—well, sorry Tammy, they're not exclusively Urokan, and I did put the Bayuk seasoning on them, but I tried. I considered fermented sardines to get a Khalyan ingredient, but to be honest, getting them to go with the rest of this is a bit beyond my expertise."

The mood lifted with his words, and he set out eight slices on eight plates. "One slice for everyone," he said. He nodded at Melo and Honovi. "Including you."

Waldorf met the generosity with grinding teeth. "They're working," he growled. Honovi had already taken a step to accept the offering—he quickly plastered himself against the wall in hopes that his employer hadn't noticed.

"Oh good," Arty said. "When I said one for everyone, I wasn't counting myself, so I'll—"

"I'll have their portions," Waldorf interrupted.

"Of course," Arty said with a smile. Archie was horrified. His father had to have known Waldorf would take them. He just wanted him to say it. It was like a game to him. "Archie? Did I raise you wrong? Help me with the plates."

Archie went the long way around the kitchen to avoid Waldorf, Blanche following close behind. They brought plates to Marje and Tammy. Arty took a plate to the nearly-collapsed Andy. Waldorf was left to grab his plates himself, a slight that registered in his souring expression.

Archie tried to put the Glutton out of mind and enjoy the pizza. His father would be leaving tomorrow, and Archie couldn't be sure when he'd have his cooking again. Although, this particular dish…

Archie looked over at Blanche and caught her making the same expression as him. "It certainly looks interesting," she said under her breath.

Archie smiled and lifted his pizza up to smell it. He couldn't make sense of it with any of his senses. It smelled like a hodgepodge and it looked the same. Bits of mushroom and shrimp and sausage poked through a carpet of blobby cheese. Nothing had been made improperly, it was just so…unrefined. Archie had no clue what to expect as he took his first bite.

The flavor was not refined either. It didn't hold Archie's hand as it guided him through its depths. Instead, it simply knocked him flat like a haymaker.

"Hoowee that's good," Andy said, his voice lacking all its previous power. But he spoke genuinely. And truthfully. Each bite was an explosion of flavor, and soon, the entire kitchen was filled with the soft moans of happy eaters.

"This is incredible," Marje said with her mouth full. "If I hadn't seen you make it myself, I would have never believed a Yellow Jacket could cook something like this."

"It's really good," Tammy confirmed. She elbowed Marge—probably for her backhanded compliment. But that didn't stop her.

"Seriously," Marje continued. "It shouldn't be this good. Maybe it shouldn't be good at all. But it is delicious."

Arty smiled and took a big bite. "Don't underestimate what happens when all the regions come together. Or Yellow Jackets." He winked at Archie.

Waldorf rolled his shoulders back and straightened his posture, standing even taller—Archie hadn't realized the Glutton had been slouching. "Arty Kent," Waldorf said as if savoring the words in his mouth. He had already eaten all three slices by the time anyone else got to their first crust. Waldorf clicked his tongue repeatedly. "Petrichor. That's your restaurant, yes?"

Arty's smile faded. "That's right."

"I'll have to visit. This…" Waldorf looked down at his plates with a rare thoughtfulness. "This has impressed me. It's as good as anything anyone else made here. Maybe better."

If the words had come from someone else, Archie would have been thrilled. His father had out-cooked a White Jacket. But the thought of Waldorf standing within the sacred walls of Petrichor filled him with dread. He didn't want Waldorf's appreciation. He didn't want his attention.

Arty did not respond. Archie knew that his hatred of Gluttons was nothing compared to his father's.

"Better yet," Waldorf said. "Relocate. I'dlike to have you as one of my private Chefs."

Archie stopped breathing.

"One of my Chefs recently died. Some illness. Tragic, really. No one could make a quiche quite like her. I'd be happy to pay you at her rate, even though she was a Purple Jacket. It's my understanding that Petrichor has quite a few debts. Even some to the crown."

Arty sucked his cheeks between his teeth and clamped down. "We're on schedule to make repayment. And I plan to keep cooking at Petrichor."

Waldorf looked stunned. Arty had not declined with grace, and now the room grew hot with Waldorf's temper. The Glutton clenched his fists. Archie summoned a blueberry in his closed palm. Honovi kicked off the wall again. Everyone waited for the outburst.

But it never came.

"Get Gristle," Waldorf commanded through clenched teeth, never taking his heavy gaze off of Arty. "We're leaving."

Melo cut across the kitchen and knocked on the outside door. Gristle entered with a cocky smile that disappeared when he saw the situation. Waldorf stared down at Arty, who held his ground.

"Arty Kent," Waldorf growled. "You'll cook for me again."

The Glutton turned and stomped out of the kitchen, Honovi rushing to stay ahead of him.

Andy collapsed the moment the door closed. Marje rushed to him, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a cloth.

"You did too much," she said.

"Had to keep him busy," he groaned, sounding more like a frog than ever. "I've cooked that much before. Just with him—with him so close. Everything done cost double."

Archie and Blanche watched as Tammy joined in fussing over the White Jacket. "Oh, Andy. Oh, Andy."

Arty stood in the center of the kitchen, still as a statue.

"You," Marje growled as she stood up and pointed at him. "How much of an idiot are you?"

Archie recoiled. Arty just took a deep breath through his nose.

"You do not say 'no' to that man," Marje continued. "You say 'that sounds great' and hope he moves on. That is a man of infinite appetite. The only thing that limits him is time—he makes ten times as many engagements as he can manage to get to. So he forgets about them. But you. He won't forget you."

"I cooked for him now, didn't I?" Arty turned to face her, his expression stone cold. Archie had never heard that tone in his father's voice.

"You said 'no.' He's going to remember that. That's a man that can have anything he wants. But now, you're the exception to that. You stand alone. The only thing he can't have is the thing that he will want most. You."

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