The Dragon's Tail Café was nestled between Belvin's Brilliant Books and For the Love of Potions on Loch Street in midtown Bankton in the Eastern Region of Toskaria. For William Wright, who lived in Lower East Side, the trip to the café was thirty minutes walking, ten minutes biking, and five minutes if he wanted to fork over the ten Commoners it cost to use the transit circle. Most days he was up early enough to stop by Coffee and Crumbles to pick up a bagel and a chai latte before arriving to work at the café; the barista typically had his order and a smile ready before he even stepped up to the counter, both facts he failed to notice.
Today, however, he would be going to the Dragon's Tail Café hungrier and thirstier than he would have liked, because not only did he wake up at his desk with a crick in his neck and drool on the pages of Alchemical Basics, but he also left his bike behind the Dragon's Tail last night. With ten minutes until the start of his shift, he dressed quickly, grabbed a stale bagel from the kitchen, and was out the door in less than three. By the time he got to the transit station (two and a half blocks from his apartment complex), the line for transit was moving slower than molasses on a cold day.
After forking over the tenner and finally making it to Loch Street, William jogged the two-and-a-half blocks to the Dragon's Tail. The doorbell rang softly at his entry. Theresa, one of the waitstaff, glared at him from the table she was serving, though her mouth was an easy smile. Making his way between tables, he finally made it into the kitchen. Mr. Cho, the owner, was at the stove, flipping hotcakes on the griddle.
When William got close enough, Mr. Cho handed him the spatula with a hard look. "Late again, Will." (Only the second time in as many months.)
William hated the bastardization of his name but kept his mouth shut, eyes on the griddle. "I left my bike—"
"I don't want to hear it." Mr. Cho sighed. "You're a good kid." (William was thirty-one years old.) "I need you here on time, Will. You're my best chef." (William was his only chef.) "I brought your bike in last night. Make sure you take it home tonight. You're closing."
"Yes, Mr. Cho." William put the hotcakes on a couple of plates with dollops of butter. He threw on a few slices of bacon as Mr. Cho left the room, a hot sizzle and the fatty smell of bacon drifting up from the stove.
Theresa stood at the service hatch with her hands out, waiting for the plates. "He's probably going to fire you this time," she sneered. She'd only been working at the Dragon's Tail for a month, and only because her father was a friend of Mr. Cho's. Whereas William had been working at the Dragon's Tail right out of culinary school: seven years come spring.
William placed the two plates into her waiting hands with a smile. "Not before you."
Her nose scrunched up. "We'll see." She stomped away from the hatch, her smile slamming back into place as she approached a table.
So, William continued to cook normal food for normal people. His day filled with orders, food, orders, and more food. Theresa's shift ended, and Evelyn came in (a much more pleasant individual than Theresa, though at least she wasn't Adrien). The day wore into evening and the arrival of the five o'clock rush where William felt magical in his prowess of cooking and keeping up with the patrons’ demands. By seven, the rush calmed to a trickle, and Evelyn spent time in the kitchen helping him clean for closing.
Around eight in the evening, Mr. Cho poked his head into the kitchen. "I'm leaving, Will; don't forget your bike tonight. And don't be late tomorrow."
"Yes, Mr. Cho."
The kitchen door swung shut. Evelyn watched Mr. Cho leave out the front and then turned to William. "I don't get it. You could have your own place, you know. I've tasted the wonders you do back here."
William continued to scrub the pot in the sink full of warm water. "And you have a degree in applied magic, yet you're waiting tables."
"Everyone wants a good meal, but not everyone's a chef. Half of the city has a degree in magic and I don't have a way to stand out, so my career opportunities are, you know, limited." She made a face at William and started to dry the dishes sitting on the drain rack. "I'm just saying, William. You work magic with food."
His hands stopped moving. "What did you say?"
"Your dishes! The stuff you come up with! I could eat your cooking all day." Her smile flirted around her lips, but William was staring at the dirty dishwater, not Evelyn.
He cleared his throat and said, "You have a degree in applied magic." He glanced at her; the smile had fallen.
"Yeah, what about it?"
Wiping his hands off on a towel, he grabbed her hand (she blushed) and pulled her into the stockroom (her face was as red as a fire newt). William didn't notice the blush and pulled the string to turn on the light of the stockroom. "I've been trying to do something." Now it was William's turn to blush. He'd never told anyone about his work before. Mr. Cho never went in the stockroom, so nights when William had to close, he usually stayed in the back, running up Mr. Cho's magic bill by keeping the stoves hot and the lights on.
From a shelf that held what looked to be a child's chemistry set, he pulled out a couple of small vials, each with some glittering substance. "Holy shit, William, is that crushed gryphon claw? And pixie dust?" Evelyn’s eyes widened, glinting against the bright magelight bulb.
"I thought so, but I don't have any way to tell if it's real. And I'm trying to"—at the last syllable, he chickened out—"make sure I can use the same vendor. It's not working the way I thought it would."
Evelyn reached out and took a vial (the pixie dust). She popped the stopper and took a short sniff. A purple light flashed around the vial as a cough shook through her shoulders. "Yeah"—she continued to cough—"that's legit." She took a few deep breaths and eyed William with her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. "I didn't know you were into this, William."
He shook his head. "Oh, no, no. I wouldn't—" Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Look, it's just for—" William sighed. "It's not what you think."
"Then what is it, William?" Evelyn put the stopper back in the vial. "If you tell me, maybe I can help."
"Well, uh, don't laugh." He rubbed the back of his neck; he blamed the heat of the kitchen for the sweat. "I'm trying to become a dragon."
