Page 8

More Than Anything

Rafferty’s eyebrows popped up, surprised to see one of the waiters from the Winter Rose Ball standing next to him, holding a short glass half filled with an amber drink. He grinned at him, then gestured at the chair b eside him.

“You mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Uh, no, not at all,” Rafferty said automatically, feeling strangely more at ease as the other man took his seat and set his drink o n the bar.

“I can tell you are trying to remember where you’ve seen me before,” his new companion said, flashing his white teeth as he adjusted his suit jacket over the casual button-up shirt he had on.

“No, I know who you are. You were the head waiter at the event the other night. The Winter R ose Ball.”

The former waiter held out his hand. “éliott,” he said, in that rich, familiar rhythm of speech that Rafferty had once shared in his orig inal life.

“Uh, Rafferty,” the former demon responded, taking the hand and shaking it. It felt strange to introduce himself. The only real people he had ever interacted with were those who summoned him, and they already knew who he was when they did.

“I imagine you are here for the same reason as I am,” éliott said, speaking in ea sy French.

“And what reason is that?” Rafferty answered, then flinched as he realized that not only had the language easily rolled out of him, but it had been fluent like Agent Archon had said. As a demon, he had adopted whatever manner of speech his masters had, some quirk of the summoning. He hadn’t spoken French in ages before talking to Age nt Archon.

No, wait, that is not true, he thought, realizing. I spoke at the restaurant Helena took me to on our first… date. He blinked again, also realizing I spoke to this man. So he already knows I spe ak French.

“You are here because the agency brought you here,” éliott replied, then gestured to the building at large. “We are all here. All the wait staff. Anyone connected to what happened. The tragedy.” He shook his hea d soberly.

“Yes, it was,” Rafferty said, returning to English, that voice still speaking with Helena’s accen t instead.

“Did you know her?” éliott asked, also making the adjustment, though he kept his lyrical vo ice notes.

“Ms. Scarlet? Not really. Only through my… girlfriend.” He wondered if he should be saying these things, but it was true after all. Harmless information. Though he wondered, Is any information truly harmless? Demons would often probe marks for every drop they could use to m anipulate.

Somehow that thought relaxed him more. He was a demon. He could handle a conversation with a waiter, even if that’s not what he pro ved to be.

“Ah yes, you are the beau of the pretty lady. The one actually in charge?” éliott said, setting down his glass to pull the menu Rafferty hadn’t even glanced at towar d himself.

“Helena,” Rafferty said, wondering if they were together after how he had left upstairs. He wouldn’t blame her if she cast him aside.

“Is she alright?” éliott asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I…” Rafferty had thought to lie for a moment, but there simply was no point. “No. She’s not alright.”

“Hmm, I suppose that is to be expected,” éliott intoned, then waved his hand at the bartender, who was already on his way to returning.

“Do you know what you would like?” the barten der asked.

“Another bourbon for me and one for him. We both need it tonight. Then your charcuterie board, s’il vous pla?t,” éliott ordered. “Please charge it to the room.” He glanced at Rafferty, smirking cheekily. “I love say ing that.”

Rafferty nodded but couldn’t offer anything else, not even a thank you for orderin g for him.

éliott didn’t seem to take offense. He clapped an overly friendly hand on Rafferty’s shoulder. “Do not worry,” he said. “This is not yo ur fault.”

“You don’t know that,” Rafferty growled, the truth coming out harsher than he had intended. Yet, he had already thrown himself on the mercy of those in power for these crimes and had been more or less ignored. He had been deemed crazy and pitiable, and then dismissed.

“Oh, I understand how you feel. The woman you love was in danger, and you did not know what you could do to help her. I, too, feel the same. My cousin, he is in a lot of trouble, mostly of his own making. He cannot find his way out when he is like this. There is nothing I can do to help him except sit by his side and wait for him to find his own way.”

“Your… cousin?” Rafferty repeated, trying to parse what éliott had just said.

“Yes, the chef who was supposed to work the Winter Rose Ball before you came in like a superhero and saved the day.” éliott shook his head and sighed. “This is not the first time he has ruined an opportunity for himself and run away, leaving me to pick up the pieces. I just did not expect it would lead t o demons.”

Rafferty’s bourbon appeared on the bar before them, and he flinched, wary of what the bartender had just overheard. The bartender passed a glance between the two of them, but he said nothing, only turning away to continue with his own business.

“You shouldn’t talk about such dangerous topics here,” Raffer ty chided.

éliott nodded, noting the faux pas with his eyes as the bartender walked away. “You are right. I apologize. I am just as shaken up as all of us about the whole situation. The need to talk i s strong.”

The charcuterie board appeared, and éliott didn’t hesitate to tuc k into it.

Rafferty only watche d him eat.

“Please, join me,” éliott invited, as he spread some jam over a piece of cheese on a cracker. “This has something fiery with t he sweet.”

Rafferty wanted to say no, but his fingers moved before he realized it, taking the offered morsel of food and popping it into his mouth. Sweet apricots hit his tongue as fiery steeds trampled right behind it. Taking in a sharp breath through his nose, Rafferty chewed, mixing the creamy cheese and dry, crunchy cracker with the battling storm of the jam ’s tastes.

“Exciting, no?” éliott asked, elbowing Rafferty lightly in the side as he assembled ano ther bite.

While Rafferty could admit that the tastes were exciting, and so potent on his taste-starved tongue, there was somethin g missing.

Helena wasn’t here to share it with him.

In fact, this was just like their first meal together, when she had offered him the gift of existence, asking for nothing else in return.

Tears filled up Rafferty’s eyes.Folding over, he hid his face in his hands, surprised by how intense this felt, too.

“How about this one, I think it is blueberry, but it might be something—” éliott’s voice died off, clearly having noticed Rafferty’s show o f emotion.

Rafferty didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the hand that rubbed at the center of his back. “Yeah, yeah,” éliott’s voice soothed along with it. “I know, man . I know.”

Sniffing hard, Rafferty lowered his shield, regarding the charcuterie board and trying to refocus on t he moment.

“What would you like to eat instead?” éliott asked. “If you could pick anything in the world, right this minute. What wou ld it be?”

He sniffed again, letting his mind wander. “Gruau,” Rafferty said truthfully, which made him chuckle despite his thick throat and wet eyes.

“Oh?” éliott asked, sounding intrigued.

“It sounds like the most comforting thing right now,” Rafferty replied, letting his old tongue slip from him.

“A taste of home?”

“Oui.” Then Rafferty shook his head, switching back to English. “But they would not be able to make it right here, even if they would do such an off-me nu thing.”

éliott nodded, then stood up, shooting back what remained of his bourbon like it was water. Then he slapped Rafferty’s shoulder twice. “Come with me. Bring your drink,” he added, swiping up the charcuterie boar d himself.

Rafferty didn’t question it. Honestly, he hadn’t questioned anything that had happened during this conversation. His defenses were down, and while a whisper of warning slipped through him that he was being too trusting, too open with this stranger, he needed it at that moment like the desert ne eded rain.

That is how the devils get you, isn’t it? he thought as he followed éliott through the small clusters of tables toward where the other waiters of the bar/restaurant were entering and exiting through a set of swing ing doors.

They didn’t stop them as they approached. In fact, one of the busboys paused to hold the door open for éliott as he passed through, slapping hands, then snapping as they passed in some sort of salute to e ach other.

Walking into that kitchen felt like walking into a long- lost home.

The bevy of smells, the clanks and clatters, the rushing sounds of water and frying oils. A sense of urgency danced in the air. It was the one room that Rafferty had always felt safe no matter what century it was—except for Helena’s bedroom, lying in her arms. There had been a different sort of saf ety there.

Rafferty stopped a few steps from the door and breathed it all in deep into his lungs. While he soaked in the atmosphere, éliott continued forward, stopping next to a woman wearing a white jacket and apron with three buttons next to her shoulder. Her hair was tied back in a short ponytail under a white pillbox toque. She didn’t look happy to see the intruders, but she leaned in to listen to éliott speaking in her ear. As soon as he was done, he planted a kiss on her cheek, and she finally, reluctantly, grinned at him, then gestured toward a corner while speaking softly. He then snapped a second surprise kiss on her other cheek before he turned to gesture for Rafferty to follow him to th e counter.

“She said as long as you stay out of the kitchen’s way and clean up your mess, you may cook whatever they have in the kitchen,” éliott informed him, tapping at the empty counter, then pulling up a stool to sit at its corner with his charcute rie board.

Stunned, Rafferty asked , “Truly?”

éliott met his gaze, already chewing another morsel, and nodded. “Oui.” Then he gestured to the room. “I know the sous, and she owes me a favor for when I bailed her out of a different t ight jam.”

“And you don’t mind using your favor for me?” Rafferty q uestioned.

éliott spread his hands, including the one holding the board, with enthusiasm. “What else are favors for if not to help a friend?”

A friend.

Again, that feeling of ease washed over Rafferty, urging him into motion. It inspired a grin to crack across his face as he eagerly grabbed up one of the aprons hanging from the end of th e counter.

“Do you want me to help?” éliott asked, slipping into his familiar support role as easily as he slipped the apron over his head.

“You’re sure?” Rafferty asked, obeying his natural wariness.

“Of course, more than anything. I want to taste your cooking.”

Rafferty nodded, accepting that answer. It was one he understood. When he finished tying his apron strings, he pulled a large bowl toward himself. Oh, to cook again, and this time, he would taste the food he made with his own hands. “I need steel-cut oats, butter, salt, sugar, nutmeg, an d brandy.”

“Ahh, you are going to do it the way my grandmother would,” éliott noted wi th a grin.

“Yes, the correct way,” Rafferty said as he moved to a small sink to wash his hands.

éliott grinned wider and set off to find the requested in gredients.