"A Dangerous Device Dispenses Destiny to the Desirous OR Th"
By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu)

URL: https://pastebin.com/j50ZR5rj
Created on: Friday 27th of March 2020 09:57:49 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:02:55 AM UTC


Follies from the Falls: Chapter 3

A Dangerous Device Dispenses Destiny to the Desirous

OR

The Blackmill Guillotine

by MagicianX

***

Her victim lay before her, helpless. The surface beneath it was clean, polished steel; the knife in her hand glittered, honed to a razor's edge.

A hand gripped her shoulder. "Remember the technique," said Carlson. "A single stroke downwards. And above all..."

"Don't cry," said Jasika. She adjusted her grip on the knife's handle. Fixing her eyes on the victim -- small, plump, unmoving -- she lowered the blade.

Her eyes instantly filled with tears. She couldn't help it.

Carlson handed her a linen handkerchief. "You'll get it," she said, patting Jasika on the back. "Just practice the motions for now."

"Right," said Jasika, wiping furiously at her eyes. Setting the handkerchief aside, she went back to slicing the onion. How anyone could manage it without immediate agony was beyond her.

"Sorry about this," said Carlson, with solidarity and sympathy. "The Hamburg party ordered French onion soup for their appetizer. Fifteen people can go through a lot of onions. I know it's

grunt-work, but --"

"I don't mind!" Jasika insisted, and she didn't. Though her eyes still burned with a prickly, savage fire, she doubled her pace, reducing the onion to a pile of tidy, white-green curls. She snatched another and slashed it in two.

Carlson nodded and turned away, but not before Jasika saw her look of satisfaction. After that, the onions fell to her blade more easily.

Around her, the enormous Blackmill kitchen bustled. From the prep-work of the young assistants, to the meticulous duties of the professional chefs -- those elder lords who oversaw the restaurant's most elaborate feasts -- the room was a constant, rolling simmer of activity.

Alone among the red, black and white uniforms, Jasika wore blue. There had been blue-suited employees before, but the nature of the color allowed for only one or two at a time. She was proud to wear it; another stepping stone achieved.

Her knife flashed, and the heap of onions diminished. Whether her eyes were growing accustomed to the sting, or she was simply out of tears, Jasika found her vision clearing. By the time the final onion had been shaved into curls appropriate for soup, the agony had passed and her eyes were dry.

"Good work!" said Carlson, as a sous-chef whisked the onions toward a pot the size of a bathtub. "Can I put you on sorbet duty?"

"Definitely!" Jasika enjoyed making sorbet. Though her first lessons in the craft had been only a month prior, she was now as deft with frozen treats as any of the senior chefs. "What flavors?" she began to ask, but never finished the question.

The kitchen had three entrances -- one on either end, another at the front -- and the nearest door swung sharply open. Marissa Adams hurried in, just managing to dodge a waiter laden with canapés.

"Alice!" Off-balance from the close encounter of the canapé kind, Marissa half-stumbled to a halt. "Alice, can I borrow Jasika?"

Thoughts of lemon, raspberry and watermelon sorbet melted from Jasika's mind. Marissa was the restaurant's senior hostess, and one of the busiest people in Michigan Falls.

"Of course," said Carlson, clearly unsure what to make of the surprise visit. "Will it take long? Only we have a lot of work, and..." She trailed off, indicating the directed chaos.

"Not long," Marissa promised. Her tone had the clipped inflection of someone with excellent manners, but no spare time. "I swear you'll get her back in one piece."

There was a pause. Life at Blackmill was prone to unexpected turns.

"You know what I mean," said Marissa hastily. "Jasika?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Jasika. She and Chef Carlson exchanged a nod and parted ways, Carlson heading towards a platter of fresh salmon, Jasika following Marissa out of the kitchen.

"Are we on schedule?" Marissa asked, as they stepped into the hallway. The tiles were red marble, polished to an immaculate sheen. "The Hamburgs are due to arrive at six."

"Everything looks good," Jasika confirmed. Her thoughts skimmed over the novel-length list of preparations she and the chefs had been focused on for the last three days. The Hamburgs would be the largest party she had ever served, and while the volume of work was daunting, the fulfillment of overcoming such a challenge far outweighed the stress.

"Perfect." Marissa's tone was still clipped at the edges. "I'm sorry to steal you away, but I needed to see you. Can you get Nicole for me?"

Jasika had been mentally prepared for a difficult assignment -- ten more piles of onions, perhaps -- but not this. "Nikki?" she said, forgetting to sound professional. "It's...three o'clock, isn't it? Won't she be on her lunch break?"

"That's what the schedule says, but I can't find her. Any thoughts?"

Jasika stifled a sigh. She knew exactly where to find Nikki. "I'll track her down," she promised.

Marissa's posture loosened. "Thanks," she said, giving Jasika's shoulder a quick pat. "I have something to discuss with both of you, but it would be best to do it together. The chefs all tell me you're doing a fantastic job, Jasika."

Jasika had been turning to depart, but a wave of warm pleasure at this unexpected compliment stopped her. "They did? I am?"

"You're the best Chef's Apprentice we've ever had." Marissa's smile carried only honesty and gratitude, without the constraints of her seniority. "We'll discuss it more later. Go catch Nicole for now, and both of you meet me at the bar. Mango juice with seltzer?"

"That's right," said Jasika, surprised that Marissa knew her favorite drink. "And Nikki likes --"

"The strawberry-kiwi spritzer. I'll have them waiting for you. Quick as you can?"

"Back in a flash," Jasika promised, and hurried for an opposite hallway. "The best apprentice they've ever had," she murmured. Though punctuality was one of her watchwords, she indulged in several deeply satisfying moments of pride.

The day Jasika had added 'Chef's Apprentice at the Blackmill Steakhouse' to her college application, she knew success was only a matter of time. Time, and scraping every penny she could scrounge into her bank account. She had been saving since her sophomore year of high school, and though the goal was high, she was drawing steadily closer.

"Highstone University, here I come," she said aloud, and pushed open a door.

The room she entered was an odd little parlor; it presented no immediate purpose, holding only a few plush armchairs and one long, cushioned bench. The carpet was a tasteful, faded red, like the bricks of a handsome historic building. Another door on the opposite wall led back into the maze of hallways, but a much larger portal -- a grand arch of dark, carved oak -- resided at the far end of the room.

It was beneath the arch that she found Nikki. She was cross-legged on the floor, shoulders resting against the polished wood while she hugged her knees. Her long hair floated around her neck in a feathery drift of hazel. Nikki's eyes were closed, and Jasika had just decided she was asleep when she said, "One of these days, Jass. One of these days, I'm going to get in there."

No one else in Michigan Falls called her 'Jass', but as the nickname had come about when they were both five years old, Jasika doubted it would ever be abandoned. She sat beside Nikki, noticing an unopened lunch bag on the carpet. "Not eating?"

"I'm meditating." Nikki's face was a portrait of serenity. "Or daydreaming. It's the same for me."

"What are you dreaming about?" Jasika asked, though she needn't have bothered. The tap of Nikki's fingertips on the oak door was its own answer. "Still?"

"Always," said Nikki. At last she opened her eyes; they were huge, shining almonds of vivid green, dancing with the vitality of her fantasies.

"There are easier ways," Jasika said gently. "We could do some research together, maybe find another..."

But Nikki was shaking her head. "No compromises. You're going to Highstone, and I'm going --" she rapped the door with her knuckles "-- in there. Isn't that why you convinced Marissa to hire me?"

"Yes," said Jasika, finding sudden interest in the ceiling. Her more immediate motive had been to secure Nikki's half of the rent. "Speaking of Marissa, she wants to see us."

Nikki had opened her lunch bag. She extracted a half-sandwich on brown bread, unwrapped it and took a bite."I'm on break," she said, chewing. "I still have forty-five minutes. Is it important?"

"It seemed important," Jasika said, thinking of Marissa's demeanor. "She was...tense."

"Marissa's always tense. She's basically Mr. Marker's second-in-command. I heard she spends most nights in the volunteer lounges."

"Marissa lives downtown," said Jasika, over the crunching of a baby carrot. "She doesn't need to sleep in a lounge. Let's go, Nikki, she's waiting for us. The bartender's even going to make that drink you like."

Nikki, now munching a of slice of green apple, glanced up. "Strawberry-kiwi spritzer?"

"Your favorite."

"Marissa's cool," Nikki said, apparently deciding this on the spot. She repacked her lunch and got to her feet, but not before giving the archway a pining look. "They always keep it locked."

"Probably so you can't play with it," said Jasika. She took Nikki's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Don't worry. I'll figure out something even better for you, I promise."

"There is nothing better." Nikki's tone was pleading. "No one else has anything like it. It's no wonder they --"

She gave a tiny gasp; she had taken a step forward, which should have been impossible. The archway should have halted her tracks as it had a thousand times before. Instead, the door had acquiesced to her touch and drifted open with a faint, whispered click.

"-- No wonder they keep it locked," she murmured. Her eyes, always bright, had become glittering emeralds. They flashed to Jasika.

"No," said Jasika, but it was a reflex, and far too slow. Nikki darted through the archway, her lunch bag tumbling to the floor. "Nikki!"

Nikki had halted only a few paces into the room. Her fists were clenched at her sides, face tilted upwards, enraptured.

The chamber before them was perfectly round; where the walls met the floor, they curved downward, flowing seamlessly beneath a rich, crimson carpet. Above, the ceiling sloped into a smooth dome, ringed by indirect amber lighting. The dome itself was pale gold, draping the room in soft, warm ambience.

"That's it." Nikki's words emerged as a slow, breathless whisper. "Just look at it, Jass. Isn't it beautiful?"

Jasika followed Nikki's gaze, their eyes settling together on the chamber's focal point. Around it the carpet ceased, replaced by tiles of black marble, flecked in a stardust of silver. Comprising a circle perhaps ten feet in diameter, the marble ended beneath a half-dozen curved, sumptuous couches. These were arrayed in a precise ring, as though to provide the finest possible view of Nikki's overwhelming desire:

The Golden Guillotine.

"I've only seen it once," Nikki murmured. She drifted forward, carried by the soul-deep strength of her longing. "Marissa showed it to me during my interview."

"She mentioned that you liked it." Jasika chose her words carefully; tours of Blackmill did not, as a matter of course, include the Golden Guillotine.

"It's only been used fourteen times," Nikki went on, sounding dreamy. She reached the edge of the marble tiles and stopped, gazing up at the guillotine's dark wooden frame. "Volunteers ask for it, but then they change their minds. They just use a grill or an oven. Why is that, Jass?"

"It might scare them. Or they think it'll hurt too much." Jasika's steps were silent as she crossed the room, her footfalls soaked into the carpet. She stopped beside Nikki and slipped an arm around her waist. "Most people aren't as brave as you."

Nikki gave a short, tremulous laugh. "I'm not brave. I just...know what I want."

Jasika let a moment pass. Her hand was resting on Nikki's hip, and she felt a shiver run through her body, as though they were standing in a snowdrift.

"We should go," she said at last. "Neither of us is allowed in here."

"Go?" Nikki blinked, her eyes misty. Jasika might have shaken her from a fathoms-deep dream. "But we just got here! And -- and the door was unlocked!"

"I'm sure that was an accident." Immediately upon saying this, a peculiar, insistent sort of tingle ran up Jasika's neck. The door to the chamber was always locked.

Nikki's attention was already far away. Directly beneath the guillotine lay a bed of sorts, upholstered in brown leather, twice as large as king-size mattress. Seating herself on the edge, Nikki slipped her shoes off, then swung her feet onto the leather.

"Comfortable?" Jasika asked, though she couldn't muster any sarcasm. Nikki looked too happy.

She took a moment to think before answering. "Remember that time," Nikki said, smiling at something distant, "when we drove to Seattle for the Servants of Anubis concert, and I got drunk on top-shelf margaritas? And then we made steamy, passionate love all night?"

"I remember...most of that," Jasika said. "I remember Seattle, and I remember the concert. I also remember holding your hair back after the margaritas, but the steamy, passionate love-making escapes me."

"Close enough. But it was a good weekend?"

"Very, except for your hangover."

Nikki sprawled full-length on the bed. Her luxurious stretch would have aroused jealousy in the most pampered royalty. "This is better."

Jasika glanced at her watch. There were still forty minutes in Nikki's lunch break...

"Come on." She pressed a hand against the small of Nikki's back and eased her forward. "If you want to play, we'll play."

Nikki's face bloomed into delighted surprise. "Are you sure? I'm only a humble waitress, but you're a fancy Kitchen Assistant. I don't want to get you in trouble!"

"We'll be careful. Just apologize to Marissa for taking so long."

"I will!" Nikki allowed herself to be guided toward the guillotine; Jasika felt renewed shivers coursing through her. "What are you going to do?"

Jasika studied the tall, stately frame. Save for those special nights when its services were required, the guillotine was left without a blade -- a simple safety precaution to guard against even the most

unlikely --

She stopped, frowning.

There was a blade. Golden, perfect and glinting in the soft light.

"Let's make you comfortable, for starters," said Jasika, even as a second tingle ran up her neck. An unlocked door to a room that was all but forbidden; an ornate, ceremonial blade where there should have been nothing. Blackmill was a flawlessly organized establishment. One such oversight was just barely conceivable, but two...

"Tell me what to do!" Nikki was hovering before the guillotine's restraints, eyes alight with a nervous thrill. "I don't want to decide. You tell me, Jass!"

"We can't do anything until you lie down," said Jasika. She pushed her thoughts to the side, where they could be considered in detail when time allowed. "Face up."

"Face up...I'd see the blade." Nikki's tone was full of wonder. She first sat, then lay back on the huge bed. "This isn't leather, Jass."

"What is it?" As gently as she could, Jasika guided Nikki's neck into a contoured recess. This was uncushioned, but it had been designed with utmost care to be supportive and comfortable.

"More like plastic," Nikki answered, her voice far away. "You have to wash it afterwards."

For the first time, Jasika noticed a number of small, discreet drains in the marble floor. She was accustomed to the kitchens, with their efficient, utilitarian tools and work stations, but she now saw that the guillotine chamber -- a specialized room for a unique task -- had been designed with the same attention to detail.

"The blade doesn't just fall, either," Nikki was saying. "The frame is wooden on the outside, but that's just a housing. There are hydraulic pistons inside. It's so much faster than the ones they used in France."

Nikki was fully immersed in her reverie now; smiling to herself, Jasika slipped a broad, supple belt across her waist and buckled it into a brass clasp. "How fast were the French ones?"

"About twenty feet per second."

"And this one?"

"Two hundred feet per second. It's unique, completely custom-built. It was the first piece Mr. Marker commissioned from Dumont Creations." Nikki squirmed in obvious pleasure, though her movement was hindered by the strap. She lifted her head and looked at it in surprise. "When did you do that?"

"While you were busy being a guillotine-fangirl," said Jasika. In spite of all Chef Carlson's lessons in comportment and professionalism, her own excitement had begun to simmer. She clasped two more straps into position, securing Nikki's wrists.

Nikki tested the restraints. "I can't get up now," she said. Her voice was full of casual wonder, as though she had just spotted a fantastic shape in the clouds. "I'm trapped."

"Should I let you up?"

"Nope."

"Good. I wasn't going to."

With her upper body imprisoned, Nikki had taken to crossing and uncrossing her ankles, apparently in need of some outlet for her stimulation. Jasika caught her ankles in the crook of one arm; she slipped off the light, sheer liners Nikki had been wearing as socks, dropping them onto the floor beside her discarded shoes. "Your nails are cute," she said, smiling and giving Nikki's toes a squeeze.

"Didn't I do a good job?" Nikki grinned. Each of her nails was meticulously painted with a delicate white flower, accentuated by a background of glossy, royal blue. "Sometimes if customers think I look tasty, they'll ask to see my tummy or my feet."

"And I'll bet you can't stand that." Jasika ran her hands over Nikki's soles, enjoying the smooth, soft warmth.

Nikki's fair cheeks turned rosy. "I love it," she admitted, fidgeting ever so slightly. "Nobody comes to Blackmill in a bad mood, have you noticed that? Everybody's excited, and when they ask to play with me..." The rose deepened to scarlet.

Jasika gave Nikki's toes another squeeze. "When they ask to play with you?"

Nikki began to giggle. She pulled reflexively at the straps around her wrists, which Jasika recognized as an attempt to hug herself; Nikki's fantasies often led to potent mixture of embarrassment and pleasure, and this was a telltale sign.

"It depends who asks," she said, face lightening to the color of a cherry blossom. "A lot of people have never been to a cannibal restaurant before, so they want help ordering."

"How do you help them?"

"I start small," said Nikki. She shut her eyes, seeming to watch a scene play out in her mind. "I tell them that hands are a nice appetizer, and there are lots of way to cook them. It sort of..."

"Eases them in?"

"Eases them in," Nikki agreed. "If you just walked out naked, a lot of people would feel really uncomfortable. It's not weird to touch someone's hands though, so you can play and be silly while you explain how to eat them."

"I've seen you doing that," Jasika remembered. "Wasn't there a bachelorette party?"

"There was." Nikki's smile carried a hint of the salacious. "We had so much fun. They were all playing with my fingers, and then they took turns trying to tickle my feet."

"Which didn't work, of course."

"I'm not ticklish," Nikki grinned. "But they really tried! They played with me for hours."

Jasika stroked Nikki's cheek. "It wasn't just playing, though, was it? They actually wanted to eat you. They even discussed prices with Marissa."

Nikki made another of her happily embarrassed wiggles. "Yeah," she half-whispered. "I almost did it. I even signed the release form."

The words "release form" lingered in Jasika's thoughts, and she wondered what they were meant to connect with. Disliking the silence, she conjured the memory of the rowdy, jubilant bachelorette party. A sly, playful idea -- a quintessentially Nikki idea -- danced into sight.

"Try to hold still," she said, in her best "Professional Chef" voice. "I couldn't take you to the kitchen looking like this."

"The kitchen? Looking like what?" Nikki gave her a bemused glance. "With my head attached?"

"For starters." From within one of her uniform's many cleverly-concealed pockets, Jasika produced a thick marker with bright blue ink. She was never without a selection of writing implements, a practice that routinely proved its worth. "I'd tell you not to move, but we can agree that's taken care of."

Instantly attentive, Nikki gave a breathy laugh as Jasika made several deft movements with the marker. In seconds, she bore a most unusual necklace: a row of neat, blue dashes across her throat.

"Perfectly aligned." Jasika raised one hand, indicating the guillotine's waiting blade. With Nikki's wide eyes fastened to it, she slowly brought her hand down until her fingers came to rest on the pale, soft skin. "Ready to slice."

"You're bad." Nikki's voice was shaking. "Don't tease, Jass."

"I'm not teasing. We always draw guidelines when we part someone out." Unfastening one of the wrist straps, Jasika turned Nikki's hand palm-up. With a second flurry of practiced strokes, she produced blue indicators at the base of each finger, and several intersecting lines across her palm. "Now we're ready to filet your hand, and serve your fingers as appetizers."

Quick, furtive breaths made Nikki's chest swell. "What else?" she urged. "What would you do next?"

"The second course, naturally." Jasika slid to the end of the bed and pulled Nikki's feet into her lap. She drew a complex series of lines and dashes on each of her soles. Ticklish or not, Nikki's toes curled tightly as she worked. "You have such little feet. They're so cute...maybe an edible centerpiece?"

Nikki was wiggling again, her free arm wrapped around her shoulders. "You'd make my feet a centerpiece?" Her voice, always airy and light, was several octaves too high.

"I would," Jasika agreed. "You give yourself the prettiest pedicures. You should show off."

"You never let me paint your nails." It was a valiant attempt at accusation, but Nikki was too distracted for much effort.

"That's because I am ticklish." Jasika slid the legs of Nikki's uniform up to her knees. The blue marker skated around each ankle, over her shins, and across both slender calves. Satisfied that her diagrams would meet the exacting standards of Patricia Dainer (renowned chef and tenured professor of AG Studies at Highstone University), Jasika moved to sit at Nikki's side.

"Are my legs ready?" Nikki could just reach Jasika with her free hand; she tugged her sleeve, insistent. "Would they taste good?"

"You know they would," said Jasika. "You took the test."

Another tingle. Jasika had thought it odd when Nikki burst into their apartment, brandishing a sheaf of vellum pages and nearly overflowing with pride. Though Blackmill's standards for employee care were as lavish as its cuisine, it was not ordinary practice for waitresses to undergo the revered "Flavor Analysis Profile".

"I framed it," Nikki said, smiling up at the guillotine blade. "It's in a shadowbox in my bedroom. Did I show you?"

"One or twice," said Jasika. This was shy by perhaps a dozen. She undid the buttons of Nikki's uniform blouse and stroked a hand across her midriff. "You're still doing pilates?"

"Morning and evening." Nikki cheek's were pink again. "Do I look all right?"

Settling for a world-class understatement, Jasika said, "You look wonderful. Think about gaining some weight, though. You're almost too thin."

"It's hard with my diet. I'm still eating mostly whole grains and fresh fruit. It's supposed to make my sweetbreads extra yummy."

"They will be." Jasika again put her marker to work. The diagrams necessary for a torso were far more complex than extremities, but she had committed them to memory years before. Nikki's smooth, white belly became a roadmap of dashed lines, arrows and indicators.

Nikki murmured a quiet giggle as the marker skimmed her sternum. "They're not too small, are they? You could use them?"

"We've been over this," said Jasika patiently. "Quality is what counts. And either way, they're exactly the right size for your body." She cupped her palm around Nikki's breast, satisfied at the balance of firmness and soft, supple give.

Nikki, always in the mood to have her flavor praised, wiggled. "As long as you think so." She drew a long, contended breath, then asked reluctantly, "How much time do I have?"

Jasika checked her phone. "Fifteen minutes," she said, capping the marker. It had begun as a game, but she had to admit, Nikki really did look ready to be whisked off to the kitchen. "Should we go?"

"No," Nikki sighed, "but I don't want to make Marissa mad. Thanks for playing with me, Jass. Could you take some pictures tonight? Before I wash it all off?"

"As many as you want," Jasika promised. "But you'll need to wash your neck for right now. Marissa might have some questions if --"

A faint, tinkling bell cut her off. Both girls gave a confused glance around the chamber before Jasika recognized the sound of her phone.

"Oh no," she muttered. The display read "Marissa Adams".

Drawing a deep breath that did nothing to steady her, Jasika tapped the screen and quickly said, "Hi, Marissa! I found Nikki. We'll be right there."

"Where are -- oh! You're coming?" Marissa's voice was painfully tense. "All right. What took so long?"

Though Jasika was resolutely honest, she recognized the occasional need for what might be called 'tactical phrasing'. Modulating her own voice, she carefully said, "I'm sorry. We got sidetracked. Nikki was tied up for a little while."

Nikki clapped both hands over her mouth. A muffled giggle leaked from between her fingers.

Jasika gave her a sharp looked and hissed, "Get dressed!" Into the phone, she said, "Is five more minutes okay?"

"We really didn't have five minutes to begin with," said Marissa, who now sounded desperate. "Let's...why don't we..." She hesitated, then said, "I know this is strange, but meet me in the guillotine room. The door is unlocked."

"The -- the guillotine room?" From the look Nikki gave her, Jasika's surprise had shown on her face. "That's -- isn't it off-limits?"

"It is off-limits, and I know it's a weird thing to ask. I just need you to trust me, okay?"

"If you say so," Jasika managed. She glanced at Nikki -- barefoot, shirt unbuttoned, covered in blue diagrams. At least it was washable marker.

"Thanks," Marissa was saying. "See you there. I'm just going inside now."

Jasika had a frantic heartbeat in which to sputter, "Now?" Then she heard a click, and the chamber door swung open.

It took perhaps two seconds for Marissa to register Jasika and Nikki. She blinked behind her fashionable, copper-rimmed glasses. She opened her mouth, closed it, then swallowed. Her face, fine-featured and pretty, underwent a distinct reddening.

She strode across the room, folded her arms and fixed Jasika with an extremely stern look. "Tied up?" she said. "Honestly?"

Jasika found herself unable to answer, but Nikki came to her rescue.

"It was me!" she burst out. "The door was unlocked, and Jass told me you wanted to see us, but I made her stay! She kept reminding me, but I never get to see the guillotine, and I just -- I love it, Marissa! It's beautiful, but the door is always locked! Everything is my fault, I swear! Please don't punish Jass! I'll do -- I'll do anything!"

Marissa waited for her to finish. She allowed several seconds to pass in silence. "Anything?" she repeated.

"Yes!" Nikki nodded with such feverish urgency that her hair came free of its wispy ponytail. "Anything!"

Marissa appeared to consider this. Her face was serious, but behind the trendy glasses, Jasika saw the hint of a joke in her eyes. "The floor in the small dining room needs to be waxed," she said. "I tried to schedule the usual cleaners, but they can't come until tomorrow. Will you stay late and do it by hand?"

Nikki didn't even blink. "Absolutely!"

"And tomorrow night, I want you to weed all the gardens on the east terrace."

"Perfect!"

"And the Hamburg party's volunteer stepped down. We need a girl to be their main course."

"Okay!"

Again, Marissa waited.

This time it was Nikki's face which turned red. With a quivering hand, she reached up to brush a feather of hair from her eyes. "Wh...what?"

"The Hamburg party," Marissa repeated. "Their volunteer was...a cousin, I think. She cancelled about an hour ago, you know how it goes. We still have the release form you signed a while back. I don't like to keep that sort of thing on file, but Mr. Marker was sure you'd want it one day. I'm guessing he was right?"

Nikki's emerald eyes were shining and dreamy. As though she were underwater, her hands floated up to grip her shoulders in a hug so intense it turned her fingers white.

Jasika's training -- a fundamental tenet to preserve high-quality meat -- made her seize Nikki's hands. She squeezed them tightly, then drew them to her face and pressed her lips to Nikki's delicate fingers. She could feel them trembling with what she knew to be sharp, overwhelming elation."It's okay," she murmured in Nikki's ear. "Do it!"

"I --" Nikki began, but her tongue seemed to catch. She tried again. "I -- I'll do it. But only if Jasika is my chef."

Jasika began to protest -- only a Head Chef would be suitable to prepare Nikki -- but Marissa was already saying, "Of course. Mr. Marker thought of that too. Chef Carlson would be helping her, is that all right?"

Her words spent, Nikki could only nod.

"Great!" Marissa awarded them both a satisfied smile. "We should start as soon as possible, but do you mind if I take a second? There's something I need to do."

Without waiting for an answer, Marissa turned on the spot and flopped directly backwards, falling onto the leather bed with a soft fwump. She blew out a long, shaky breath.

"Sorry," she said, offering them an equally shaky smile. "I don't think I'll ever be comfortable asking that question. I'm the big, important senior hostess, blah blah blah, but it -- it's still a lot. A lot to ask of someone." She sat up, fixing Nikki with a hard, serious gaze. "You don't have to do it, Nikki. Not if you don't want to. Blackmill is meant to make people happy, and if --"

"I want to!" Nikki looked as though Marisa had threatened to withhold her all her future birthday and Christmas presents. "Please, Marissa! It's the whole reason I work at Blackmill! I mean -- it's a great job, and I love it here, and --"

But Marissa was waving her gently down. "It's okay. You don't have to explain yourself. Not to me, or the Hamburg party, or anybody. We all want what we want, right? It doesn't have to make sense."

"It does make sense." Jasika spoke without intending to. "I'm supposed to be a chef. It's the only thing I can be. To do that, I need -- "

"Me!" Nikki threw her arms around Jasika. "You need me! You're a chef and I'm the main course! And the appetizers, and the entree, and dessert!"

"Don't forget about the centerpiece."

"The edible centerpiece," Nikki reminded her. Without releasing Jasika, she looked back to Marissa. "What do I do next? Should I get undressed? I've never done this before."

"It's not the sort of thing you do twice," Marissa pointed out. "You can undress if you like, but Jasika can do it after you're back in the

kit --" She broke off as Nikki flung aside her unbuttoned shirt. "Or not, your choice."

Nikki hurried out of her uniform trousers and tossed them away. Her bra warranted brief consideration before being unfastened and dropped to the marble floor. After a scant pause, she slipped her panties off and turned, blushing and expectant, to Marissa. She pointed upward, indicating the golden blade. "Do I get to sign it?"

"Naturally! We can't have you defying tradition." Marissa pressed her palm flat against the dark wood of the guillotine's frame. With a click, a hatch swung open to reveal a panel of ornate silver switches. "You'd never guess it was here, would you?" she asked, seeing Nikki's surprise. "Dumont loves adding esoteric stuff like this. Hiding the machinery in the decorative parts." She flipped several switches, then nodded with satisfaction as the blade descended with slow, well-oiled grace.

Nikki accepted a marker from Marissa. She removed the cap, but lingered for a moment, studying the sweep of lustrous metal. "Will it go up with the others?"

Jasika knew what she meant. Nestled in Blackmill's labyrinth of hallways, there was a wall bearing fourteen golden blades. Each was signed by the person who had fallen to it.

"You'll be number fifteen," Marissa promised. "There's a spot waiting for you."

"Can I see it? My spot?"

Marissa frowned deeply, her mouthing tightening into an unhappy grimace. "Oh...I'm sorry, Nikki. There isn't time," she said, the apology sounding stricken. "Jasika needs to start working on you as soon as she can."

"Start working on me," Nikki murmured. "Will you enjoy that, Jass?"

Jasika found her heart racing. "I'll enjoy it," she said. The statement emerged sounding neatly matter-of-fact, but Nikki's almond eyes were gleefully aware; she had guessed at the images rippling through Jasika's imagination, shimmering like waves of heat from an open oven. Nikki knew she was thinking of the kitchen, with its clean, polished countertop. Below it was a single drawer designated for Jasika's use. Every chef needed their own tools; hers were silver, mirror bright, and sharp as glass.

Jasika gave herself a mental shake. She was dangerously close to letting the anticipation overwhelm her. She needed her head clear and sharp as well.

She took Nikki's hand, guiding it toward the blade. "Come on," she said, trying to sound brisk. "You have places to go."

"So do you." Nikki grinned, and Jasika knew she wasn't fooled. "You've got my papers, Marissa? All the forms I signed?"

"Every one," Marissa confirmed.

"Nothing's changed? All the money-stuff is how I asked?"

"Exactly as you wanted it."

Looking satisfied, Nikki reached forward and autographed the blade with a flourish. She rose, stretching up on her knees, and gave Jasika the kiss she was craving. "My Mom and Dad are getting some of it," she said, when they came apart. "My fee, I mean. Will you tell them for me?"

"I'll take care of it," Jasika promised.

"Good. Because the rest is for you."

"It -- what?" Jasika heard a cool, mechanical purr, and saw the blade rising back toward the top of the frame. Nikki's looping signature seemed to dance across the gold. "Wait, Nikki, you can't --"

"Can too!" Nikki lay back, settling her neck into the contour. "That's how I wanted it during the bachelorette party, that's how I want it now, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Right, Marissa?"

"It's legally binding," Marissa conceded. "Signed by Nikki and Mr. Marker, and filed with the city. The money will be deposited into your account after the restaurant closes tonight."

Jasika's mind became a spiral of zeroes and commas. Blackmill's strict, volunteers-only policy meant that the restaurant served very few of its staff. When an employee did volunteer, the posthumous fee was astronomical.

"That should cover tuition at Highstone University, shouldn't it?" Nikki was watching as Marissa gently fastened straps, securing her waist, wrists, and ankles. The blue diagrams shone on her pale skin.

"At the very least," Marissa laughed. "She can build herself a lake-house for a graduation present." Reaching to the side of the frame, Marissa lowered a final restraint: a slim arch of dark wood that matched the contour cradling Nikki's neck. "There you go," she said, giving Nikki's cheek a quick, affectionate stroke. "It's been wonderful having you here, Nikki. Everyone's going to miss you."

"If there's anything left of me, will you share it with the other waitresses?" Nikki asked, hopeful. "I know the Hamburgs are a big party, so they might eat me all up, but...?"

"The Hamburgs are a big party, but they're also first-timers." Marissa placed a finger to her lips, mock-pensive. "They've never been to a cannibal restaurant before. I doubt any of them will notice if we saved a few bites of you."

"And for Jass?"

At this, Marissa laughed openly. "Don't worry about that. Chefs always get a taste."

Nikki grinned. She wriggled happily against the restraints, trying to hug herself, but the straps held fast. "I think that's everything." She looked at Jasika. "Now?"

Jasika wondered if she should say something -- some heartfelt confession about what their friendship had meant to her -- but Nikki was right. Everything had already been said.

Her eyes flicked to the control panel of switches. One of the switches was larger, ringed with gold.

She knelt beside Nikki. "Goodbye, Nikki."

Nikki was shaking. Whatever excitement Jasika felt, it was nothing to hers. "Bye, Jass."

In a single motion she stood, turned, and flipped the switch. Something in the guillotine gave a vital hiss, and flash of gold momentarily lit the air.

There was no graceless clunk when the blade struck. The guillotine was far too well-designed for such inelegance. Jasika heard only a short disturbance in the air, as though a tiny bird had just flitted past. She barely had time to see the blade fall before it was rising again, returning to its perch at the top of the frame.

She didn't wait for instructions from Marissa. There was no need. She was a chef, and there was a feast to prepare.

The straps around Nikki's arms and legs came easily undone. Jasika slid her from the bed and carried her toward the kitchen. She was no longer shaking, but her weight was familiar and comfortable in Jasika's arms. From the warmth of her body, she might merely have been in a daydream.