Page 5 of Morel Dilemma

A new illusion formed in the air, one where the potted trees made a more traditional pergola shape and umbrellas shaded the tables—and protected them from rain and sun. Though a few vines dangled from the branches and twined around the posts—trunks—of the structure, the rooftop wasn’t quite as lush and bird-filled as in the first image, but Rylana liked it. It was similar to what she’d originally imagined, though she hadn’t been envisioning a carpet of moss-covered stone tiles. Those remained in the second illusion. As long as some magic helped keep the moss and trees and plants alive, Rylana would happily serve people in such a setting.

Rolf walked in, his short white hair sticking out in all directions. He counted out six copper coins and set them on the counter next to Gniknik. “There’s your cut.”

“That’s half of what you got from that huge table of well-to-do women on their way to their book club meeting at the coffee shop?” Gniknik squinted at him. “There were eighteen diners.”

“I just said that’s your cut, not that it’s half.” Rolf smirked at him. “You barely did anything.”

“I collected all the dishes, kept their glasses full, let that curly-haired grandmother pinch my cheek like I’m a little boy, and I carried trays of food to the table.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t have a lot of money or tip well. I still can’t believe how much Zalani made this morning by wiggling her boobs at those brutish human and orc athletes. If anything I could wiggle would have interested them, I would have.”

“You could have wiggled for one of the grandmothers.”

“I didn’t want anything of mine pinched.” Rolf grabbed a tray, loaded it with prepared plates, and headed back to the dining room.

“This seems like an interesting place to work.” Chalora had finished the details of her illusion and came to stand next to Rylana. Or maybe Rylana’s plate. She pointed at the bacon. “What is crusting those pieces of meat?”

“Spruce tips, I think. I understand the season for acquiring the freshest and tenderest of tree needles will be past soon, so Jildarin is making the most of it.” Rylana offered the elf a piece of the bacon.

Chalora didn’t hesitate to accept it. She inhaled deeply before taking a bite.

“My favorite bacon that he makes is rubbed in espresso powder,” Rylana said, “but it’s all delicious.”

Flames leaped under a burner as Jildarin seared slices of plantains, and was that asparagus? Rylana couldn’t imagine the combination, but what did she know? He tossed garlic and lime into the concoction, his focus fully on the food. He hadn’t yet turned to look at the illusion.

“This is delicious.” Chalora’s eyes closed as she savored the bacon. “Fried pork is difficult to find in the enclave. Those who prefer vegetarian meals sneer at the scents of bacon or other meats wafting through the trees.”

“You’ll have to take your time with the seating project so you have an excuse to eat your meals here.”

Chalora took another bite of bacon, made an appreciative mmm, and said, “Maybe I could move in for a few weeks.”

“This is not a hostel or other place of sleeping,” Jildarin stated, plating the plantains and asparagus.

“Your lair is in the storeroom,” Rylana pointed out, though she didn’t truly expect him to invite the elf—or anyone else—to sleep in there. His face had turned red, and smoke had nearly wafted from his nostrils when she’d suggested she be permitted a small corner.

“Nobody sleeps in a dragon’s lair except a dragon,” Jildarin said.

“You let me sleep there.”

Chalora blinked at Rylana in surprise. “Lord Jildarin allows you in his lair?”

“As long as I don’t make too much noise or take too many trips to the lavatory in the middle of the night,” Rylana said.

“That is… a rare honor.”

“Yup, I’m honored every night as I lie on the cold cement.”

“I only allow your presence because you are my business partner and you have made this establishment profitable. Further, you’ve sold eleven surplus gnomish commercial ovens.”

Chalora blinked again. She seemed to find this whole turn in the conversation surprising. “Why did you have so many ovens? As a dragon…” She waved toward the flames burning heartily on the cooktop, and Rylana noticed the knob wasn’t turned on.

“Ordering mishap,” Jildarin said tersely, then handed the plate to her. “Sweet, caramelized plantains paired with crisp, earthy asparagus stalks. You will enjoy it.”

“I believe I will, thank you.” Chalora smiled as she accepted the dish, but she also glanced again at Rylana’s remaining bacon strips.

Rylana walked to the counter, grabbed tongs, and picked up a couple of pieces to lay across the rest of the elf’s meal. Chalora sighed with contentment.

“I think that’s the perfect design for our rooftop.” Rylana pointed the tongs at the illusion lingering in the air.