Page 27

Divine In tervention

Rafferty had a problem.

No one was selecting his dish.

He had cut into one of the pies and dished out the slices onto the plates provided by the hotel. To his eye, they all came out perfect, with even colors, and it smelled delicious to him. But when he set out his plates with a small bit of greenery garnish, no one picked one up to give it a try.

“Raffie, what’s wrong?” Helena asked, coming up beside him to spe ak softly.

“I don’t understand it,” he whispered back. “There were several people who expressed interest in my dish, now where have they all gone?”

His eyes skimmed the room.

“There seems to be as many people as before. In fact, I would say there are more,” Helena noted, and she was right. The room was flooded with people, and they were gathering around the other contestants, selecting plates of their dishes before moving toward other tables to sit and eat. There was a lot of energy and excitement in the room, while the “nobles” nearby, Scarlet and Ritchie, observed and commented while splitting a bottl e of wine.

Eleanor’s station in particular was raging as people cheered and clapped while she put together stir fries to order and made a show of flaring the fire and making the ingredients dance. Already her plate stack had shrunk, and the officials were keeping count as they added more. It was clear that out of everyone in the room, she was doing the best.

“Boy, she’s really putting on a show,” Helena said thoughtfully, then looked down at his offerings. “And your show was earlier when you were putting the pie together. But where are the people who were watching you then? They looked so in terested.”

“They came back and got a couple of plates, but that’s it. No new people,” he reported, wondering where he went wrong. “I don’t understand it. The presentation looks appealin g, right?”

A look of pity flashed on Helena’s face, and a thrum of panic jittered through him. “What’s wrong with them?” he asked, his voice nearly the whine of a child, and he cleared h is throat.

“Nothing!” Helena assured him. “I think it’s delicious. I had one, it’s w onderful!”

He waved her compliment away. “Taste means nothing if the other person doesn’t think it looks a ppealing.”

“But it does!” his girlfriend insisted. “It’s colorful and fun. It looks rea lly good.”

“Then why do they not come?” he asked. He was being surly and petulant. He could hear i t himself.

“Maybe, it’s not you,” Helena offered lamely. “Don ’t panic.”

“I have never had this happen before,” he insisted. He could feel the panic infecting him despite her instructions, leaving his chest to make his hands shake and his feet itchy. The need to do something was strong, but there was nothing left for him to do. “I don’t understand. I put out the food and normally the people just come an d eat it.”

“You’ve never had to market to people before,” Helena said as if her words made any sense.

He was about to shout at her when she plucked up two plates and walked them over to Scarlet an d Ritchie.

Ritchie grinned smugly at her as she approached, clearly aware that he was winning. Helena spoke to both of them, though Rafferty couldn’t make it out. The smug nobleman’s eyes glanced at him, twinkling in victory, and Rafferty had visions of taking one of his knives and stabbing it into one of the man’s eye sockets, just to see how far he could cu t through.

“Sure, I’ll help out,” the rich man said, his voice carrying just enough over the din for Rafferty to hear it. Helena set both plates on the table, waiting as they bo th dug in.

“Oh my, this is delicious!” Ritchie exclaimed, much louder, after his first bite, already cutting another chunk off for his second. “Oh, fantastic! You really must give me his contract, Scarlet. I really have t o insist.”

Helena said something more, then returned to Rafferty’s station. “There. That’s two plates down,” she said.

“I hope he chokes on it,” Rafferty murmured, his voice as dark as coffee.

“Oh stop,” Helena said, bopping his arm with her fingers. “Ju st watch.”

At first, Rafferty couldn’t see what good she had done, really, but a single person peeled off from the crowd. They came up to the table and looked at his dishes, then back at the boss’s before pointing at the plate. “Is this what Mr. Tirrell i s eating?”

“Yes, totally,” Helena said, and swiped up another plate. “Here, try some.”

“But wh at is it?”

“Savory Rainbow Pie, of course! A beautiful balance of flavors all in a single magical pie,” she continued, speaking louder as a couple more people walked up to look at it. They too were also glancing back at t heir boss.

“No meat, though?” one of them asked as they took the place of the first man, who walked off with a bite already on its way to his mouth.

“It doesn’t need it,” Raffert y snapped.

The pair flinched back, clearly offended, but Helena was there again, soothing their hurt feelings. “This is strictly vegetarian, but so good you won’t even notice. It’s a complete meal all unt o itself.”

Just then Ritchie walked up. “Oh, that was surprising. Are you sure you don’t want to just throw this silly competition and come work for me instead? If you cook like that, I will double what she’s paying you,” he crowed, plucking up another plate. He didn’t wait for an answer as he cut another mouthful and stabbed it with the tines, barely getting it to his mouth in time as he returned t o Scarlet.

“Alright, alright. We’ll try it,” the two people said, snatching up plates and retrea ting away.

Rafferty couldn’t stand it. He grabbed at Helena’s wrist. Her head snapped back toward him at the abrupt motion. “What are you doing?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“I’m helping,” she said, patting his gripping fingers to rea ssure him.

While he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t imagine she wasn’t enchanti ng people.

“Y ou can’t—”

“It’s not going to get you disqualified, don’t worry,” she said, giving him a wink. “I’m just another participant, recommending a dish I have tasted, just like everyone else here.” She gestured over to another table where a pair of kids were trying to pick desserts between two other tables while a third was already munching down on a su gar treat.

Before he could say anything more, another handful of people came up to the table. Helena backed around it to stand close enough to whisper to him. “Just be nice and answer any stupid questions they may ask. You can win this t hing yet.”

And then she left him, weaving her way amongst the gather ing crowd.

Rafferty had never felt so angry in his life. It was like someone held his spine agai nst coals.

Still, he did nothing. There was nothing more for him to do; his work in the process was done. Plate after plate disappeared from his table, all without him doing anything more. It was all Helena. He watched as she moved around the room, talking, laughing, socializing with people, and one by one, they came over to claim a plate. As the time ticked away, he stood back and counted the plates, refilling new ones from his other pies still warming in the ovens. They, too, disappeared until only half a pie was left.

“What is the issue?” Scarlet asked, coming to stand next to him, her arms folded while one hand held a flut e of wine.

“She’s taking it away from me,” h e growled.

“Eleanor? I wouldn’t say that. It looks like you two will be neck and neck. I’m tempted to ask for a plate recount just to be absolutely sure,” Scar let noted.

“Not her.”

Scarlet went quiet for a moment before saying, “And how is Helena taking this away from you, exactly? If anything, I would say she is doing all of this for you.”

“It’s not my victory if she helps me. Then what am I really doing all of this for?”

“Me,” Scarlet said, pinning him with a sharp stare. “That’s what you both told me. You were doing this for me. To help me. Because everyone wants to help me.” There was a twinge of contempt at the end of her last statement.

“I made a mistake,” he snapped, then closed his eyes, already regretting saying that out loud. “Apologies, lady. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I feel it, but there are no… right word s for it.”

“Maybe you’re thinking of moving on, now that you have your second chance at life,” Sca rlet said.

His heart sped up at that statement. “No,” he said with a sharp shake of his head.

“Helena is not the woman you knew anymore, is she? And she’s not what you want now. But you don’t know how to say good-bye and let her go, and that terrifies you, because it’s what you really want, isn’t it? You want to le t him go.”

Rafferty blinked as he caught the pron oun shift.

Scarlet didn’t seem to realize it. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Her gaze was long and far away. A second later, she snapped back to herself, then she swallowed down what was left of her wine as if to wash the words out of her mouth.

The two of them were like a weighted island of silence in a sea of laughter and c hattering.

Eleanor shone in this environment. People were still gathered around her, watching her work. She had been going at it full tilt and showed no sign of slowing. She was energized by all this, her cooking and her social nature merging seamlessly before her audience. She was exciting and vibrant to watch. A goddess o f cooking.

“I did not consider my making the dish as part of the… performance. To attract the people to my food, not just by making it look tasty, but involving them in the process of making it.” He shook his head. “This is too different a world for me. I’m used to being a faceless, behind-the-scenes player. My cooking is my only communication with my audience.”

And it was true. Over at his station, a small crowd was gathered, eating and commenting on his works. They seemed very pleased, but the space behind his table, where he should have been standing, was empty. And the void he should have been filling seemed to be occupied by Helena.

She led another small group over and handed them each a plate of his pie, the last plates on the table. Her face practically glowed as she talked and laughed with everyone hovering around her. Like a queen bee in the middle of her buz zing hive.

Vassago’s words rang in his ears. “Ah, I see, she’s got her hooks into you, ha sn’t she?”

His old self would admire her work. She was pulling off a subtle trick, gathering the people around her, sipping off of their essences. Sustaining herself with their energy, willingly, if unwittingly given. His stomach twisted again as he watched her, even as he felt jealous that such a skill came so easily to her. It had taken him ages of nearly starving, rationing his power, until he could get his payoff before he realized he could do t his trick.

It felt like she was cheating the game.

“This world is not the on e I know.”

“And you think you’re the only one that feels that way,” Scarlet said dryly. He blinked, unsure if he understood what the woman beside him was saying, but her gaze was also on Helena. Strangely, Scarlet was wavering on her feet. Then the noble lady stumbled a little, spilling a little of her drink, before resetting herself, compensating her unsteadiness with unnatural stillness. She had had more to drink than he realized. “If there is one… damn thing… I have learned from Yosef, that took me a lifetime to understand, that he just knew so naturally… there is nothing wrong with letting the people love you and help you.”

It felt like a slap of cold water, settling his anger back from raging fire to seeth ing coals.

With a very focused, slow walk, she went back to her table, leaving him with that unhelpf ul advice.