Page 17

Taking a Demo n Shopping

T he answer was no. Rafferty did not have anything else to wear, and both of them were reluctant to have him use demon magic to conjure anything more appropriate to go to a two or even three star restaurant. She’d rather just use money.

“Come on. This is going to be fun,” she said, dragging Rafferty into the high-end outlet mall. The demon looked overwhelmed, but she kept a firm grip on his arm. As far as she could tell, as long as he stayed in his human form, no one seemed to really notice anything out of place about him. Not on the bus ride over there nor as people passed them in the mal l itself.

Yet, Rafferty was stiff as a board, walking in a way that would have made the Tin Man look like Gumby. “That’s my favorite place.” She gestured toward the 105th clothing store. “You can get really nice pieces for really low prices because they are just trying to move the inventory. We’ll go there first to get you something better to wear…”

“This is a bad idea, and we should leave now,” Rafferty growled under hi s breath.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, smiling politely to a mother and child trying to get by as Rafferty came to a full stop next to a very leafy pott ed plant.

“I don’t… I don’t like…” he struggle d to say.

“You don’t like what?” sh e pushed.

He dropped his voice even more, leaning forward to bring his breath to her ear. “I don’t lik e people.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes.

“I mean, I never liked people. Not ever. It’s all too much.” He pivoted then, turning to head back the way they had come. “I can’t do this. I ’m going.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. You’re fine. This is fine,” she soothed, running her hands down his arms. He rolled his eyes as he let her stop him, dragging him back to their semi-hiding spot. “Look, okay. I can appreciate that this is hard for you. I’m guessing you haven’t really gotten out very much in the last how many hundr ed years?”

“Three hundr ed fifty.”

“Right,” she confirmed, annoyed, but pushed on.

“And yes, usually people summon me into a kitchen or something. Definitely into their houses, and when they’re done, I’m dismissed,” he conceded.

“Okay, so … not a lot of crowd interactions. Completely understandable. But we can’t exactly go into a restaurant with you looking like you’re part of the staff, right?” she said, gesturing to his caterer’s outfit. Then she had an idea. “I bet I can find a store in this place that you wo uld love.”

Rafferty looked around. “Look, I don’t really care about how I look. I never really liked clothes, okay? They were just something to keep on your body when it was cold and to keep the priests off your back. You know? Modesty and stuff. More or less.”

“Huh. Okay, well that’s an extra tagline that’s going to need some more explanation later, but right now, will you please just trust me and come with me? This is one hour of y our life.”

He eyed he r warily.

She leaned in even closer, careful of the words she was about to say. “I would think spending one hour in a place you’re uncomfortable in this reality would be preferable to an hour … elsewhere ,” she said with a you-know-what-I-mean attitude. “It can’t be nearly as ba d, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, his lips pressing so hard they bulged. “Fine,” he bit out, confirming her argument had persuaded. He simply couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he offered her his hand, and she took it gladly, dragging him to the one place she knew he wo uld like.

At the far end of the mall, tucked into a corner was a double-wide store. She knew the minute he saw it because he came to a dead stop, making a guy who had been going too fast behind them trip. Rafferty didn’t notice him or his curses though. His eyes were glued to the display laid out be fore him.

Just behind a large pane of glass, someone had created a magical kitchen. On a faux counter, next to a smaller version of a kitchen table, different appliances danced about, some of them suspended by wires to convey their merry whimsy. Utensils of every shape, size, and color had been laid out on a sweeping, curving board. Someone had drawn long staff lines on it, as if it were a sheet of music and the utensils were the notes. Decorative cupcake papers had been turned into flowers, while in a flower box on the fairytale kitchen’s fake window was a row of different flours ranging from Almond to Semolina.

Above it all read the name: “A Cook’s Wonderland” in Miss Mu ffet font.

“Told you you would like it,” Helena said proudly.

“How is such a store possible?” he breathed.

“Uh, the development of commercialism and globalization over the last few centuries,” Helena said, thinking of what could have been available to him three hundred and fifty years ago. “You think this is amazing? Wait until I take you to a groce ry store.”

Mesmerized by what he was seeing, Rafferty drifted forward toward the store’s entrance. He stopped at the threshold, staring inside. “What are they doing?” he asked.

“Oh, looks like cooking classes.”

In the back half of the store, a line of cooking stations lined the wall with an extra-long continuous white granite counter creating an alley that separated it from the rest of the place. People were gathered within this alley, talking, laughing, and cooking while a woman dressed like Rafferty only in white with a blue kerchief covering her hair, demonstrated at her elevated cooking station at the far end.

Helena took his cold hand in her warm one. “Come on. Let ’s go in.”

“No!” he said, urgently resisting. “No. I am… I am unworthy.”

She wanted to laugh like he was joking, but his face told her he was anything but so she choke d it down.

“Rafferty, don’t be silly. It’s just a store. For cooking supplies. Everyone is worthy. That’s the point of a place like this. ‘Anyone c an cook.’”

He winced at that, shooting her a disgusted expression. “Who the hell s aid that?”

“A cartoon mouse, but it doesn’t mean it’s not universally and uncopyrightably true,” Helena insisted.

“Let’s just… just take me to that clothing shop you wished to go to, and let’s get out of here.” He continued to pull away, but Helena wasn’t having it.

“One thing. Let’s go in and buy you one new cooki ng thing.”

“It’s not like I haven’t used everything that has been invented since t he 1600s.”

Helena glanced into the store. “Have you ever used a rice cooke r before?”

“A what? What do y ou mean?”

“Okay, so you don’t get summoned into Asia very often.” She tried one more time to drag him in, but still he resisted.

“Just leave it alone!” he said. Then when she looked back at him, exasperated, he added softly, “Please. I can’t.”

At that, she relented. “Alright, alright.”

They traced their way back to 105th . Because it was the middle of the day, there were very few customers in the store, and those that were there were shopping through the racks on the women’s side. Instead, she led Rafferty over to the men’s side where several impossibly well-sculpted mannequins were frozen in “cool guy” poses sporting the latest fashions.

“So what do you like to wear?” Helena asked, clacking aside some hanging clothes to get a better look at the available colors of a lovely set of dres s shirts.

“Short breeches and a toque,” Rafferty muttered.

Helena paused to look at him. “Well there’s a visual,” she said. “Didn’t they believe in shirts i n 1600s?”

Her demon leveled a glare at her. “Yes, we wor e shirts.”

“And the little necktie thing right? Cravat?” She grinned, enjoying herself way too much. “Well since we aren’t going to a historical re-enactment themed restaurant, let’s find something a little more modern for you.”

“Just pick whatever you want. I don’t care. Just pick it and I’ll wear it.” H e sighed.

“That sounds like an early days relationship to me,” a store clerk said, a woman with big hair and an even bigger smile, her voice singing out with a small Southern twang. “Now don’t tell me—let me guess.” She looked between the two of them. “You are friends starting to think about dating, but you’re both still on the fence, am I right?”

“No,” Rafferty said, offended, “not even remotely.”

“We just met a few weeks ago,” Helena said. “Been on three date s so far.”

“We’ve had three meals together,” Rafferty again c orrected.

Helena laughed and leaned in to the clerk. “I like them grumpy. They’re just so cute when they’r e grumpy.”

The clerk’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, it takes all kinds, doesn’t it? Now my name is Honey, and how can I be of assistan ce today?”

“She says I need better clothes to go to this high-end restaurant she got reservations for,” Rafferty reported.

“Well, while you cut a dashing figure, I can see why she’s concerned. They might think you were one of the wait staff,” Honey said, slapping his arm lightly as she laughed at her own joke.

Rafferty didn’t react. For a brief moment, Helena thought he was going to flare his demon-aura or something, but Honey didn’t even seem t o notice.

“So do you know your size, sugar lips?” she asked, already pulling out a tape measure attached to her wrist to pull across his s houlders.

“Uh, no,” Rafferty said uncom fortably.

“Don’t worry. Most men don’t. Or what they tell me is dead wrong.” Without asking permission, she stuck her arms under his and wrapped her measuring tape around his waist. “Hmm, darling, you smell good,” she declared. “Like rosemary and thyme. You a baker?”

“He’s a cook,” Helena corrected. “He’s a se lf-study.”

“Got a YouTube channel?” Honey asked, looping her measuring tape around his chest, then slipping it out to dance down his arms. “Hold your arm out, h oneypot.”

“I like this,” Helena said, pointing at a dark suit on one of the mannequins. “Black suit with black shirt and black tie. Very mysteri ous chic.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just let’s get on with it!” he growled, jumping away from Honey as she knelt down before him to measure hi s inseam.

“Okay, okay,” Honey said, holding her hands out. “We’ll do the black suit. I can eyeball the rest.” That last was directed at the area he wanted her to avoid, giving him a smug smile instead.

“You’re wrong,” Rafferty said as Honey finally wandered off to a rack of dark-colore d shirts.

“About what?” Hel ena asked.

“There are some things worse t han hell.”