Sebastian stood in the door's shadow, watching Bard's every move. He ground his fangs the twenty minutes it took the man to wrestle the crust into the tart tin with hot, sweaty paws, thanked the Powers he'd been smart enough to pre-core and pre-cut the apples paper-thin with inhuman precision. It had taken twenty seconds.

He even overlooked when the man forgot his carefully created caramel glaze to anoint the sharply sweet Bramleys, raising the dish to a tatin. But Sebastian drew the line at ashes and pepper.

If he cold-cocked Bard now, he'd have time to wash the apples and make a new crust in time for dessert.

The 'cook' woke in his bed around 9, another mysterious goose egg on his skull. He had an idea how it got there too.