8 Banquet

The sound of her slap is so sharp and out of place at the banquet that those at the tables around us stop their conversations. A wave of silence moves outward from our position and I can feel eyes on us. Amina uses that to her advantage.

"How dare you insult my chastity! I am a woman of honor and will not be spoken of in that way." She grabs my arm. "Take me away from this savage!" It's overkill, even for her. I half expect her to throw her hand across her face in distress but she settles for splashing her wine at Shade. He became incorporeal the second after she slapped him so the wine splashes harmlessly to the ground. After her display I let her lead me to an empty table and have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. She sure has a flair for the theatric.

We suffer no more than a few curious glances until conversation continues and people seem to forget our little scene ever happened. It's usually later in the evening that drunken outbursts interrupt the rest of the partygoers. By that time most of the reputable families are at home in bed.

"Well that could have been less dramatic," I say, glancing back to where Shade is slowly getting to his feet. His eyes are burning with hatred towards Amina but she doesn't even spare him a glance.

"Oh who says you have to start all the drama around here?" She gives me a playful shove then rises to fill her plate. As she does this I notice that her arms are back to their usual slender shape. It makes me wonder what her true appearance is, what she would look like if she couldn't look however she wants. "C'mon let's go see if we can make one of the Culinaries faint." I smile and follow after her.

There aren't many in the tribe whom we disdain on principle but the stuck-up group of magical food preppers are definitely on the short list. There are five of them and for whatever reason they have the most boring abilities...to make food. Don't get me wrong—it's incredible that they can take whatever raw ingredients they think up and turn them into elaborate and delicious meals in a matter of minutes but they don't have to be complete snobs about it.

Those with the talents for growing produce or rearing livestock bring the requested raw ingredients and the Culinaries somehow turn it into a feast. There's none of the prepping, cutting, or even cooking that any of us can tell but somehow they take a hundred or two kilos of bland meat and vegetables and turn it into a feast for most of the island in half an hour. They also think that their abilities are the most important and useful to the people on the island and refuse to let anyone outside of their group even glimpse what it is they do in their workroom.

Our dig at the Culinaries is to mix and match as many of the foods as we can. Each of the various tables are separated by regions and cuisines from around the world. In order to hone their skills and diversify their repertoire they are granted time every week at the scrying stone to spy on the Mainland and observe the different ethnic meals of various cultures. They get supremely offended if those of us with unworthy palates decide to take it upon ourselves to mix and match from one table to the next, subverting their 'supreme wisdom' and choosing exactly what we want to eat. The highest offense against them is to move from one table to another without finishing what's already on our plate. Amina and I are on our third table and our plates are piled high.

I'm trying to fit an American hot dog between my Chinese fried rice and enchilada from Mexico when a kid a year younger bumps into me.

"Oh m-m-my, I'm s-so sorry Damon, er, sir." The kid who ran into me barely comes up to my shoulders. His hands are shaking and I take his plate so it doesn't scatter food onto the floor. It looks like he followed the rules with a hot dog, hamburger and some garlic home fries getting precariously close to spilling off the edge of his plate.

"Hey Aiden. You gotta watch where you're going, yeah?" The boy looks astonished that I know his name, as if I haven't known him his entire life. As if everyone on this rock doesn't know everyone else by name. He nods slowly and takes a couple deep breaths to steady himself before reaching for his plate. At the same time I feel a hand on my forearm.

"About done here? I think we've done quite enough damage." At her words, I glance at Amina and stifle a laugh when I see her winking at one of the Culinaries. The man is glaring at the two of us like we just drowned his pet cat.

"Hi Amin—" Aiden brings up a hand to wave but forgot that I just handed him his plate and the entire thing spills across her clothing. His face turns the same shade of red as the ketchup running down her dress when he realizes what he's done.

"Oh shit—I mean I'm so sorry!" He bends to pick the plate up and somehow makes more of a mess when he tries to clean everything up.

"It's fine really, don't worry about it." She has a smile on her face that looks more amused than anything else.

"I have only spent thirty minutes in this gown, now's a good time as ever to change." With that she confirms my suspicion about her wearing real clothes and the green dress she's wearing is somehow drawn into her body as another emerges. This one is fiery red with a hemline so high it leaves little to the imagination of a teenage boy. She winks at Aiden.

"I hope you'll be joining us, little man." She saunters back to our table without seeing his response. That was good for him because his mouth is hanging wide open and I'm pretty sure he's about to drool. Luckily I've seen enough of Amina's flaunting to be immune...mostly.

"Better close that thing before something flies in. Grab some more food, we're over there." Aiden shuts his mouth and collects his plate, scrambling to fill it with much of the same food that spilled onto the ground. I don't wait up, knowing he'll be hot on my heels, and follow Amina back to our table.