Page 26

It’s Not Opera Cake

“T hank you for coming with me to this,” Helena said to Rafferty as they walked up the sidewalk to the restaurant where the tasting was being held. It looked like it was part bakery, part catering service, with a window full of different kinds of cakes lined up as examples.

Rafferty grunted an acknowledgement, his hair dancing in the air as he squinted in the sun.

It occurred to Helena that she should get him some sunglasses. As well as some other clothes. They had made do with the clothes she had bought him yesterday. She had washed his shirt in her laundry, reattached most of the buttons, and he had ironed it himself once she showed him how the electric one worked. Apparently, the process of ironing hadn’t changed much in the last few hundred years, and the only difference was hers heated up with electricity, not from being set on the hot oven o r hearth.

For his pants, she did a quick spot clean since they were supposed to be dry clean only. Since he had only worn them a few hours, she figured they were squeaking by until after she could run him to Target or Kohls or something and get him more clothes. It was what credit cards were fo r anyway.

For now, they both had to settle with him looking like a semi-casual black shadow with his jacket and no tie. She dressed in a long wool skirt and cream blouse bundled under her winter coat. He didn’t seem to mind the col d though.

“A little background information: I haven’t had the best interaction with these people so far, and now I wish I had canceled the tasting, but I figured, let’s just get it done, and if it’s a complete bomb, we can go get something else afterwar d, okay?”

Rafferty grunted, and she grabbed the door to open for both of them.

The inside of the place smelled of baking goods, but with something else sour underneath, though putting her finger on that smell proved impossible. It did nothing to change her impression of the business. There was a long L-shaped counter that filled the space with glass in front to display a bunch of other baked goods, everything from cookies to pastries to more cakes like those in the window. An annoyed looking woman stood behind the counter helping another customer, her frizzy hair barely contained inside a hairnet.

Helena and Raffert y waited.

Then Rafferty made a non-committal grunt in his throat. Glancing up at him, he stood there with his arms crossed, staring down at the display case with a grumpy look on his face. She leaned in, grabbing his upper arm to pull him down a bit toward her so she could whisper more or less in his ear.

“What is it?” s he asked.

“Those aren’t opera cakes,” he growled.

She glanced at the case, noting the small sign amongst a bunch of vertical-layered cakes that read “Opera Cakes” in flowery han dwriting.

“What are they?” s he asked.

“I have no idea, but those aren’t it,” h e stated.

She grinned quietly and said no more as it was their turn to step up to the counter.

“How can I help you?” the woman said, not to Helena who had been the one to step up and try to engage with her. She directed her question poignantly to Rafferty over her shoulder as if Helena wasn ’t there.

He blinked, as surprised as Helena felt, and raised a hand to indicate the woman should talk to the human in fron t of her.

The woman’s lips thinned with annoyance, and then she directed her harsh gaze to Helena. “How can I help you ?” she repeated.

Helena put on a friendly face. “Hi, my name is Helena Rhodes from Scarlet Promotions. I’m here for the tasting on behalf of the Winter Ro se Ball.”

“Right,” the other woman said and turned to go back through a pair of industrial swingi ng doors.

Helena stood there, stunned and unsure of what to do with no instructions. She glanced back at Rafferty, who seemed extremely bored, his arms recrossed as he moved back and forth a f ew steps.

“Okay, I guess we’ll wait here,” she said, wondering again what the consequences would be if she j ust left.

Ugh, I can’t do that to Scarlet’s reputation, she thought with an inter nal sigh.

To her relief, the woman came back a few minut es later.

“Come on,” she said curtly and led them back into a large industrial-level kitchen, where people were moving about making huge trays of baked goods. The unpleasant woman led them to a table that looked out of place, set in a corner with a pair of gold-covered chairs with pristine white seats. The table was set with a nice dining set of white plates with gold edging. A water glass and wine glass waited with a carafe of clear water next to a basket of covered bread rolls in the middle. Flanking them were two small dishes, each with little scooped mounds of butter. The butters were odd though: one seemed to have little flecks of something golden in them and the other was more of a pink color. The final touch on the table was a beautiful bouquet of white and purple orchids.

“Feel free to take all the pictures you want,” the curt woman said, indicating the table. “The Executive Chef will be with you soon.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” Helena said. The woman did not appreciate the thanks. Just walked off before Helena had finished speaking to head back up toward the front. “Okay, well the layout looks really nice. Pros and cons so far,” she said softly to Rafferty.

For his part, Rafferty moved up to the closest chair and pulled it out for he r to sit.

“Thank you, sir,” she said to him, nodding her head, and sat down at the table with a view of the kitchen. Then she slid out her phone and did as she had been instructed, taking pictures of th e layout.

Once Rafferty sat in the other chair, they both regarded the clanking chaos aro und them.

“Not the same sort of view as our other date,” s he noted.

He grunted, watching attentively as a pair of men watched a giant mixing arm turn and beat some sort of dough in a kettle large enough for Baba Yaga to boil a couple of chi ldren in.

“I wonder what they’re making,” s he asked.

He partially stood up to look over the vast counters at someone with several baking sheets laid out beside him. He grunted. “That’s the thing,” he muttered. “He’s making that fake Opera Cake ov er there.”

“You want to go over and check it out?” Helena asked, but Rafferty shook his head. “Why not?”

“I do not have permission to enter the kitchen,” he said and left i t at that.

They sat together companionably, waiting for someone to arrive to give them more information about what was about to happen. Helena wished she could bring herself to talk to him about what happened last night. They had parted ways shortly after the licking moment, her going to her bedroom and him cleaning up the dishes. She just didn’t know how she really felt about it and wished Cindy had helped her solve it.

Now sitting there with Rafferty, she thought, Or I could just be a big girl and solve it myself. But she still had no idea what to d o or say.

But she knew she did have one really big, awkward questio n to ask.

Rafferty, do you find me attractive? she thought. Only that was not how she wanted to phrase it at all. Why did you lick me last night? What does it mean? Were you trying to seduce me, or were you just trying to prove a point? What would happen if I slept with a demon? Would I be cursed? He said it was one of the things I could exchange for service from him, but is that all it is to him, or could he have relations on his own time too?

None of these were questions she felt like she could ask in the middle of a room full of strangers, even if none of those people were paying any attention to them. The fact that there was a big ass crucifix on the wall framed by pictures of saints didn’t help thin gs either.

Rafferty himself had given her no further clues since yesterday. He had made her breakfast again that morning and then accepted graciously that she needed to run into work and then had been just as gracious when she returned to take him to the tasting for dinner. She didn’t know what he was doing with himself while she was gone. Her place hadn’t been overwhelmed by another feast for a thousand, but she figured he was at least getting a lot of g ood rest…

She furrowed her eyebrows as something occurred to her. “Rafferty … where are you sleeping at night?”