A Dash of Dragon

This middle grade fantasy introduces an exciting world where engaging human and magical characters live together. The title tackles themes of abandonment, loneliness, risk-taking, trust, and friendship. Readers are likely to become wrapped up in Laila’s story and anxious to know what her fate will be.

Autorentext

Heidi Lang and Kati Bartkowski

Klappentext

Includes an excerpt from A hint of Hydra.

Zusammenfassung
“This novel is a recipe for success.” —Kirkus Reviews

A thirteen-year-old chef has a lot to prove as she tries to run a five-star restaurant, repay a greedy loan shark, and outsmart the Elven mafia in this entertaining novel that combines all the best ingredients—fantasy, humor, adventure, action, cute boys, and a feisty heroine!

Lailu Loganberry is an expert at hunting dangerous beasts. And she’s even better at cooking them!

For years Lailu has trained to be the best chef in the city. Her specialty? Monster cuisine. When her mentor agrees to open a new restaurant with Lailu as the head chef, she’s never been more excited. But her celebration is cut short when she discovers that her mentor borrowed money from Mr. Boss, a vicious loan shark. If they can’t pay him back, Lailu will not only lose her restaurant—she’ll have to cook for Mr. Boss for the rest of her life.

As Lailu scrambles to raise the money in time, she becomes trapped in a deadly conflict between the king’s cold-blooded assassin, the terrifying elf mafia, and Mr. Boss’ ruthless crew. Worst of all, her only hope in outsmarting Mr. Boss lies with the one person she hates—Greg, the most annoying boy in school and her rival in the restaurant business.

But like Lailu always says, if you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. And she’s determined to succeed, no matter the cost!

Leseprobe
A Dash of Dragon

1

MYSTIC COOKING

Lailu flipped a large chef’s knife end over end, scowling at the row of onions pinned to the far wall. She could have taken on another kraken or even a hydra right then—anything but this endless waiting. She almost didn’t blame Master Slipshod for taking off and leaving her alone on opening day.

“Don’t worry,” she told her remaining batch of onions. “It will only hurt for a second.” Definitely less than being chopped up, at any rate. As she selected a sweet yellow one, the bell above the front door chimed.

Lailu whipped around, the onion toppling onto the floor. Customers? She ducked past the curtain separating the kitchen from the dining room, straightening her fluffy white chef’s hat as she went. “Welcome to Mystic Cooking. Our special today is . . .” Her eyes flicked to the man looming in her doorway, his maroon coat and black silk cravat practically blending in with the warm cherrywood of the walls next to him. “Mr. Boss?” What was he doing here?

While she was barely over five feet tall, Mr. Boss (“Call me Victor”) was not much taller, but his back was straight and his cane seemed more like a threatening prop than a tool. He looked like he might be in his sixties or seventies, his gray hair oiled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. She’d heard the rumors, of course, that he was actually 206 and that he bathed in the blood of young dragons every month to slow his aging. Lailu wasn’t sure she bought that; she knew how hard it was to kill a dragon.

Mr. Boss turned slowly, taking in the spotless and very empty dining room. “Busy, I see.”

Lailu flushed but refused to look away. It was only her first day, after all. Customers would come. They had to come. “Master Slipshod isn’t here right now,” she said, her voice shaking.

“So it would appear. Frankly, I’m surprised he left you here all alone, and you just a child.”

“I’m old enough.” Lailu stood up straighter, trying to look older than her thirteen years. “What do you want?”

Mr. Boss’s smile widened as he studied the menu behind her. “Hmm. ‘Kraken calamari in a creamy white wine sauce served over fettuccine, with a kraken seafood medley appetizer.’ ” He tapped his cane on the floor. “Well, now, that does sound fancy. I’ll take it. On the house, of course.”

“On . . . on the house?”

“Of course. Why should I pay? I mean, it would be almost like paying myself.” He gave a dry chuckle.

“What does that mean?”

“Just that your mentor and I have a little . . . arrangement. I don’t pay here.”

Lailu gaped. “Do you have any idea what we went through to get that kraken?” Old Salty was a tough beast, and getting one of his delicious tentacles had cost Lailu two days and three bruised ribs, not to mention a brief glimpse of her own mortality. No way was she giving it away for free.

“I can’t imagine why I’d care.” Mr. Boss sat at one of her tables. “Well, girlie?” he demanded, tapping his cane again. “Get to it. I’m not getting any younger.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Lailu muttered. Still, Mr. Boss was Master Slipshod’s business associate, whatever that meant. She might not like him, but she had to be polite. And maybe her mentor had promised him free food, though she’d be sure to check as soon as he decided to show up. After a moment’s hesitation she turned and stomped toward the kitchen, saying a silent prayer to Chushi, the God of Cookery, as she passed the small wooden shrine perched in the corner. Her father had carved it for her the day she’d been accepted into the academy.

Lailu had always looked up to her father. Much like the woods he carved, he could be firm and unyielding, but Lailu admired the way he worked hard in all aspects of his life. Before returning to their village, he’d told her how proud he was of her dedication to cooking and her determination to start this restaurant. He claimed the gods had granted her a gift that could change their world. If he believed that strongly in her abilities, then she could handle anything, including Mr. Boss.

In ten minutes she had a bowlful of her famous kraken seafood medley (well, one day it would be famous) with large slices of exotic fish fillet and kraken tentacles in a saffron broth. She carried it out, ducking carefully around the heavy blue curtain that hung from the kitchen doorway, then froze at the scene unfolding in her once-empty dining room.

“I hope you don’t mind, Lailu my dear, but I invited a few friends to join me.” Mr. Boss smiled wide enough to show off his gold molars.

“A few friends?” At least a dozen people were grouped around Mr. Boss, all watching her with unfriendly eyes. She only recognized one of them: the tall, gaunt man sitting to the left of Mr. Boss was Havoc McHackney, infamously known as “the Butcher,” who slit the throats of those unfortunate enough to get in Mr. Boss’s way.

As Lailu reluctantly moved forward, the Butcher eyed her up and down. “So you’re training with Slipshod, are you?” His upper lip curled. “That wasted old fool.”

Lailu stiffened, her ears burning. “Master Slipshod is a great chef. He literally wrote the book on dragon cuisine, and trained Head Chef Master Sanford, and he cooked for the king himself—”

Havoc made a rude sound, and the men around him laughed.

Lailu took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.…