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Lavender Lemon Sug ar Cookies

Rafferty didn’t notice the ride home. It was like he had fallen asleep on the way back to Helena’s house, but suddenly the driver spoke up. “Is this it, sir?” he asked. Blinking, Rafferty looked out the window and realized that they were indeed in fr ont of it.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked as he slipped off the seatbelt.

“If you’re paying cash, let’s just call it $40 even,” the dr iver said.

Rafferty had no idea if that was a fair price or not, but he counted out two $20 bills and passed it to t he driver.

As he fit his new key into the lock and turned it, his nose was greeted by a very distinct and specific burning smell as soon as the door cracked open. It harmonized with a sharp, rapid beep ing sound.

“Goddammit!” Helena’s voice cried, followed by several metallic crashes followed by an unearthly animal scream. Spurred forward, Rafferty slammed the door and rushed through. The air in the house was filled with smoke, and more of it seemed to be streaming from th e kitchen.

“Helena!” he called as he burst through into the kitchen, the swinging door whamming hard in its jamb at the force.

Then he came to a full stop in shock at what he w as seeing.

Ingredients were everywhere: flour and sugar spilled on the counter next to a bowl filled with some sort of dough, a bit of it splattered on the walls. Smoke trailed out from an open oven. A baking sheet lay splattered on the floor with mounds of something burnt brown and black on its surface… and across the floor. And Helena was chasing a black cat throughout the room whose tail was very muc h on fire.

“Pooka, stop!” Helena cried as she tried to catch her desperate animal, the creature’s medium-long fur standing completely on end, trailing burning bits of ash from her cindering tail. Her eyes wild, she scrambled into the corner by the back door, desperate for escape and, apparently, determined to do it through the wall if she had to.Failing that, she then made a desperate attempt to escape through the rapidly swinging doorbehind Rafferty.

Thinking quickly, Rafferty only had enough time to grab a dishtowel from the counter closest to the door and drop it down as he pounced on the cat before she could pass through his legs. Using the towel to protect his hands from her scrabbling claws, he turned on his heel to head to Helena’s bathroom. Kicking the handle of her shower with a foot, he stepped into the shower with the cat, just as the water hit them both. The stream hit the tail and put out the fire instantly, but now the cat had an even more distressing problem: she was completely wet. Bowing herself in an impressive show of flexibility, Pooka managed to twist around and sink her claws into Rafferty. Or rather Raffer ty’s coat.

It didn’t hurt him but gave her the purchase to free herself from his grip; the feline fell splat onto the bathroom floor and took off to part s unknown.

“Rafferty, are you okay?” Helena called, appearing at the bathroom door in time for the cat to blaze, or actually not blaze technically, past her. She yipped as she jumped back while Rafferty cranked off the shower to stop it from making him more wet.

“Pooka!” Helena called, chasing after the cat, and he got his sopping self out of t he shower.

“I guess the cat is home?” he c alled out.

“Yeah,” Helena shouted back. “The BDI dropped her off for us. Not that I think she’s happy now to be home.”

Hauling off his wet coat, he let it slap onto the floor and left the bedroom to survey the damage in the kitchen. It looked as bad as he remembered. Braving the smoke, he went to the window and hauled it open, then turned to the fire alarm and tapped the button to shut it off. At last, there was quiet, and he co uld think.

Just then Helena came back.

“She seems to have hidden herself under the bed. I’m going to have to lure her out with tuna or something,” Helena said, coming to a stop at the swinging door of th e kitchen.

“What the hell did you do?” he asked, gesturing to the room.

“I… have no idea.”

Rafferty couldn’t help it. He broke down laughing.

Helena didn’t laugh with him, looking more mournful as she squatted down. “They were supposed to be cookies,” she said as she picked up the dark-brown-to-charred pieces, putting them back on the cooled bak ing sheet.

Rafferty turned to her mixing bowl and brushed his fingers through his wet hair to slick it back. He picked up the bowl, stirring the contents inside and measuring with his eyes the texture and consistency of her future “cookies.”

“I don’t think these were ever going to be cookies. What di d you do?”

“I told you; I don’t know! I thought it would be so easy to make cookies of all things and that it might be nice for you to come home to the warm smell, you know? And I was trying to be good and not use any magic to make them since you don’t like that.” She threw some of the cookie pieces onto the sheet so hard that they bounced right off again.

He set the bowl aside and dropped down to help her. “Thank you,” he said, trying to give her a smile to show his app reciation.

It did not seem to soothe.

She was too focused on her failure. “I just don’t get it. Why does everything I cook turn into a disaster? I’ m cursed!”

Rafferty sighed, “Your baking sheet is too dark, ” he said.

“What?” Helena asked, pausing to follow his gaze.

He picked up the sheet and traced a finger along the edge. “Too dark of a baking sheet absorbs more heat, cooking your dough faster, so it takes less time. And you’re baking. You’re not cooking.”

She narrowed her eyes at that, then crawled over to her counter to pull down a familiar spiral cookbook. Sitting down with her back against the cabinets, she laid out Nana’s cookbook against her thighs and scanned the pages. “So, ten to twelve minutes would be too long?”

“In your oven, yes. And”—he stretched his hand into the oven’s body—“the other thing about your oven specifically, it doesn’t hea t evenly.”

“What?”

“I noticed this before, it’s always hotter in the back than in the front, so anything that is made in it has to be turned around partway through.”

“You’re kidding!”

“It’s not a big deal, ” he said.

“My cat was on fire! How is that not a big deal?”

He scrunched his nose. “Yeah, how did that happen?” he asked.

“I seriously don’t know! One minute I’m pulling the burnt mess out of my oven and the next thing I know, fwoosh ! This oven isn’t even that old . Dammit!”

“Also, I think your eggs were too cold. You took them straight out of the refrigerator, right? You didn’t give them time to warm up or put them in warm water or s omething?”

“Why would tha t matter?”

He pulled down the batter again and gave it another stir. “Cold eggs prevent the dough from aerating properly, making it so they don’t develop air pockets, so you won’t get a good texture in your cookie. I’m guessing you didn’t use room temperature butter either, you just popped it into the microwave and turned it to liquid…”

“Okay, okay, I get it! I suck!” Helena shouted, burying her head in her arms. “I just wanted to do something nice for you!”

Setting the bowl to the side, Rafferty shifted until he sat next to Helena, but like so many times since he met her, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to put his arm around her, but she was so prickly at that moment, he was sure that would only make it worse.

But then she decided for him, lifting her head to drop it against his shoulder, her eyes closed. Automatically, his arm lifted, and she slid into them naturally. Cradling her to his chest, he buried his nose into her golden-red hair, breathing her in, erasing the burnt smell from his nose.

“Thank you for the cookies,” he whispered, and he meant it.

They sat that way for a few peaceful moments, then she asked, “Did you like the uniform I picked for you?”

He stiffened. Why is she asking this now? The thought felt irrational, but it also had the gravity of fate. Inevitable. Like an execution.

“What is it, lover?” she urged, softly, cupping her hands around his face. “Rafferty? Ta lk to me?”

“Are you really my Helena?” he asked, his voice breaking under t he strain.

He could feel her start to pull away, and he pressed his hand, trapping hers in place. “No, please. I’m sorry, forget it. Forget I said it. Please.” But his entreaties did nothing. Her hand escaped, and she sat back a little more, her gaze piercing him, judging him. He de served it.

“What do you mean, ‘Am I really Helena?’ Who else wo uld I be?”

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” he muttered, and he covered his face. If he were still a demon, he could have blinked himself away. How do humans escape these s ituations?

“Rafferty. Do you believe I’m not who I say I am?”

“No!” Yet that wasn’t true either. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid… I’m…” He growled. “I don’t know wha t to say!”

“I think you do. You’re afraid of me,” she stated factually.

He wouldn’t lift his head, but the pressure of her next to him forced h im to nod.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Helena cooed softly, once more deigning to touch him, rubbing her hand over the back of his. When he didn’t unfurl, she retreated again. “I get it. After everything you’ve been through, of course, you would doubt me. If I’m honest, I’ve been doubting me, too. But I am still me. I mean, I am still Helena, even if I’m different now. I’m not in hell. I’m here with you. That must mean s omething.”

He still couldn’t raise his head. He understood what she was saying, but he could feel this all falling apart. The carefully constructed lie he had been trying to build crumbled a round him.

Still, she persisted. “Is there any way I can reas sure you?”

“That’s just it, I’m not sure,” he said, his voice steadier. The worst of it was out, and if he was honest with himself, he felt a bit better for it. “If you aren’t her, don’t ever tell me. I don’t think I could bear it.”

“I’m still me , Rafferty. I swear. I a m Helena.”

No, you’re not, he thought. He couldn’t unsee it now. The Helena he knew was gone. The Rafferty he had been was gone, too. They had both become different people, and it had all happene d so fast.

Still, the tension dragged out bet ween them.

Finally, she stood up and went to get her broom, proceeding to sweep up her cookie mess. Somehow, her moving allowed him to do so as well, uncoiling from the tight ball he had managed to put himself in. Now, he let one of his legs drop to the side, opening himself up a little bit, while he watched her repair the damage she had done. The oven had cooled, and the smoke had escaped out the open window. While Helena dumped the mess that had been her cookies into the garbage, Rafferty noticed the cookbook lying face down on the floor. Picking it up gingerly, he turned over the pages filled with Nana’s writing, interrupted with his own here and there. He stopped on the recipe Helena clearly had b een using.

Lavender Lemon Sugar Cookies, the printed text read, followed by Nana’s handwriting. To soothe the soul!

He could almost hear Nana’s voice as she recited to him while she baked. “Lavender flowers represent purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness. Mix with lemon and sugar. Lemons symbolize light, love, heart, and soul. They also attract good fortune and help people embrace changes. Now the sugar… well the sugar doesn’t represent anything, but if you don’t add it to cookies, then you got biscuits instead, and that’s not what we’re going for today.” He chuckled then and he chuckled now at t he memory.

Then he noticed at the bottom of the recipe, something more written in her hand next to a jotted-down recipe for making the lavender lemon sugar needed for the recipe. When needed to emphasize the purity in the lavender, use the Shepard’s prayer. When needed to emphasize the light, use the morning prayer. When both are needed, use Lares ’s prayer.

Lares ’s prayer.

He remembered now. Back when she had summoned him. She had fed him these very cookies and he… went to sleep.

No, I returned to hell without being compelled, he realized, his eyes going wide as he read the words of the spell with his name above it, hidden as a prayer there in the book. Maybe he should have felt betrayed by Nana’s trick, but instead, he saw an answer. A terrib le answer.

He could banish Helena back to Hell. And he woul d be free.

It would be a betrayal.

It wouldn’t be his first.

He looked to Helena, whose back was turned toward him. She was looking in her bowl of cookie dough in disgust before picking up the whole thing, spatula in the other hand, and going to the garbage can to dispose of the remains. Before he could stop her, she had neatly swiped the whole mess into the pail. Taking them all back to her sink, she dropped the spatula and reached for the dish soap to squirt into the bowl. This he intercepte d in time.

“Let’s try again, ” he said.

“T ry again?”

“Yes, you and I together. Let’s do this together,” he said, setting the bowl on the counter. He went to the small shelf on the counter where he had stacked the herbs and spices he had collected during the short stints when he had existed in Helena’s world as her demon. He found the jar that he kept the lavender in already on the counter where she had made her first attempt at flavoring sugar. A lemon sat beside it, half flayed of its zest. He picked it up and passed the grater to her. “Go ahead and get some fresh off of that.”

He grabbed the lavender and started sifting through it to find the best in the bottle. Moving about as she zested, Rafferty set things to right, wiping up the spills between measuring out what he needed.

It gave him something to focus on instead of his rapidly beat ing heart.