Page 13

It Was a T on of Food

“D id you get a chance to call and make the appointments with the caterers?” Yosef asked. He was leaning over her new desk in Scarlet’s office, looking down at his clipboard o f to-dos.

“I’ve called three of them so far,” Helena said, tapping her pen down on her notes. “I’ll do the other five here before I leave.” She glanced at her clock. There were two hours to go before the end of the day.

“Leave? Where are you going?” Yos ef asked.

Helena cocked an eyebrow. “Home? At five? Like we nor mally do.”

Yosef pursed his lips. “Do you really think that is wise at t his time?”

She noted his warning. “Well, so far we still have time to get everything done, and if we start pulling all-nighters before we need to, we’ll burn out too close to the fin ish line.”

Yosef continued to star e at her.

“I also have a friend visiting this weekend,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes.

She narrowed hers in return. “And last I checked, I am the deputy for this project.”

He blew out an exasperated breath and straightened to swipe his clipboard off her desk. “Fine. Do what you want,” he said, whirling to go back to his own desk on the other side of th e office.

With his back turned, Helena felt free to sigh herself before passing a glance over at Scarlet’s desk. It stood empty. Scarlet hadn’t even come in today, but that was the privilege of being the boss. No one to hold you accountable except yourself. Still, Helena wondered if she needed to talk to Scarlet about Yosef or if it was something that would only backfire if she tried. It was getting frustrating. Ever since Helena had taken over this project, it seemed like Yosef had challenged every one of her decisions, and she really wished he wo uld stop.

I suppose this comes with the job, she thought as she picked up her office-designated landline and started dialing the next caterer.

“Hello, City’s Best Catering. How can I h elp you?”

“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of Scarlet Pro motions…”

Just then Helena’s personal mobile lit up, silently alerting her that Chris was calling. She flipped it over so she wouldn’t be tempted to answer h er friend.

“Okay, what can I do for you?” The woman on the other end sounded annoyed.

“I would like to set up a tasting with you.”

“We don’t do tastings. We’re a catering service,” the woman said imp atiently.

“Yes, we are looking to hire a catering service,” Helena said through gritted teeth. She was too tired for this.

“For how many people?” the woman said busi ness-like.

“Fifteen hundred.”

“How many?!” the woman said, finally pe rking up.

“Fifteen. Hundred,” Helena said slower, now getting annoyed and letting her voice show it.

“Who are yo u again?”

“Helena Rhodes. I represent Scarlet Promotions. We are interviewing caterers for the Winter Rose Ball. Can I please set up a tasting appointment with you?” Helena said, trying to sound moderately civil as she spelle d it out.

There was a long pause on the other end. “Our Executive Chef will have to call you back,” the unhelpful woman said, very unsure now. Helena left her contact information and thankfully got off t he phone.

“Ugh,” she grumbled under her breath. “Only four mo re to go.”

Helena didn’t know what to expect as she wrestled her keys into her hous e’s door.

Just before she turned the key, she stopped as a though t hit her.

I left a demon at my home, alone. All day.

She didn’t know why that reality was hitting her then, but she turned to look around at the quiet street she lived on. Her house was a small one bedroom, a forgotten relic from an earlier era. The majority of the houses like hers had long been knocked down and replaced with three-story apartment buildings or three-flats that made her house seem like someone’s kid sister tagging along with the ol der kids.

She didn’t see anyone else on the street or hear very much outside of the usual city noises just a street away from this fairly quiet oasis. No one suspected that a demon was so close.

Taking a deep breath, Helena fortified herself. “It’s alright. He isn’t going to be here forever.”

Just then her phone rang out, playing “Dancing in the Streets.” She almost dropped it when she picked it up, catching the sight of “Chris” written across the scre en again.

“Oh, dammit,” she said as she hit the answer button on the phone, then wedged it between her shoulder and cheek, so she could use her free hands to try to get her d oor open.

“Hey Chris, sorry about not calling you back. I was on other calls all day at work,” she said into the phone as she turned her key, then paused as the faintest smell of something hit her nose. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that her houseguest had cooked dinner. What else was a food demon left to his own devices goi ng to do?

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Chris said, sounding tired on the other end of the line. “I just need to talk to someone about a thing I’m wrestl ing with.”

“Here, just give me a few minutes to get into my house…” Helena said when she finally got the door popped open. A richer wave of food smells enveloped her, drawing her into her home with its entici ng aroma.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just take your time. I can wait,” he said, sounding tired and sad, which concerned Helena since he was usually the most jovial o f people.

“Hey, I’m home!” she called as she stumbled through the doorway only to be greeted to quite the sight on her dining room table. It was covered with dishes, more than enough to feed a dozen people, all plated like they were ready for their close ups. On her TV, mounted to the wall in her designated living room, a cooking competition of some sort was playing.

“What is all this?” she cried out but got no response. “ Rafferty?”

“Helena, is everything okay?” Chris shouted from t he phone.

She pressed it back to her ear. “Hey, I’m sorry, Chris. Can I call you back? I have a … thing I got to take care of first,” she stated as she stared at the feast on h er table.

“Yeah, sure. Just whenever. Thanks,” Chris said and then was gone before she could say good-bye. Normally, she would have thought that strange, but nothing beat what she was witnessing right be fore her.

“ Rafferty?”

Walking past her overladen table, she went to the kitchen.

Within, it looked like a cooking storm had blown through.

Grocery bags leaned on and against the counters, many of them partially empty. Her garbage was overflowing with discarded food containers. There were even more completed dishes lining her counter. And in the middle of it all stood the demon res ponsible.

He was in his human form, one hand still holding her flat frying pan on the stove, the other holding a spatula. He looked up, blinking at her sudden presence. Then he turned and surveyed the wreck of a kitchen. He seemed to be taking in the same enormity of it all as guilt flooded his face.

“I … didn’t realize until you came home just now that I might have gone a little … overboard,” he confess ed softly.

The pan continued to sizzle, puffing up a burning smell, and he quickly used the spatula to pry up the toasted sandwich he had been in the middle of making. He set it on a waiting casserole dish that he was using as a plate since apparently all the others had been pressed into service, turned off the burner, threw down the spatula and backed up, running both hands over his head. While he was still human, Helena got the impression of Rafferty’s tail flicking behind him in agitation.

He straightened, going all formal like he had on the first night he had cooked for her. Helena could feel the wall he put between them reform as his face went impassive. Then he bowed his head with dignity.

“What are you doing?” Helena asked, bringing her own head down to try to make eye contact with him.

He sighed exasperatedly. “Despite your words from last night that this is a ‘vacation’ for me, the truth of the matter is that I am a demon under a contract to you, even if that contract is dangerously ill-defined. Therefore, certain rules sti ll apply.”

“Yeah, okay,” Helena said cautiously, not liking where this was going. “And those r ules are?”

The outer corners of Rafferty’s eyes squinched like her ignorance pained him. “The rules are that if you do not lay out specifically what I can or cannot do with your energy, it is in my best interest to … ‘run up your bill’ as much as possible.”

“Oh,” Helena said, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. She looked from the demon to the piles of groceries, then leaned back out the swinging kitchen door to take in the feast on her dining ro om table.

“Uh… I can’t eat all this.”