Page 47

A Kitchen Full of Demons

“S he’s not for you,” Rafferty’s voice said, his arm cutting in front of the swirling eyes and breaking the creature’s focus. It blinked once, then narrowed its strange eyes angrily at the oth er demon.

“Fix your sight,” Rafferty gro wled low.

“I see why you chose her, Lares. She’s an old, old soul,” the demon hissed, his eyes shifting to Rafferty. “Yes. Very nice. Does she taste delicious as you once did?”

Rafferty didn’t react to the baiting. “Fix your eyes. You agreed to obey me in this.”

The demon grinned smugly and looked back to Helena. “He is being very uncouth and rude, is he not, my dear? He isn’t even introducing us. Oh well. I look forward to getting to know you better when he drags you down with the rest of us… as I did him.”

Helena’s heart beat faster, and she grabbed for Rafferty’s hand. A vision of this creature tearing her throat out crossed through her mind, and the demon’s grin grew larger, as if he were the one who put it there.

The demon’s eyes noted her hand clasping at Rafferty’s. “Oh that’s sweet. She thinks you’re going to save her. Well, it’s too late, tasty little old soul. The deal has already been struck, h asn’t it?”

Rafferty pulled his hand out of her grasp and planted it on her bare shoulder instead, pushing her back and away roughly.

“Fix your eyes,” he repeated to the demon, “or you forfeit our bargain.”

The creature narrowed its whirlpool eyes, then blinked once before rapidly fluttering them. When he opened them again, his black eyes had shifted color to a light hazel. “That goes for all of you!” Rafferty barked to the room. “Keep your eyes on you r tasks.”

All of the demons turned to him for a few moments, like they were confused, but then a few got it, and eye colors began to shift across the room, hiding the last telltale sign of their unnat uralness.

Satisfied, Rafferty turned back to Helena, resetting his hand on her bare shoulder firmly to steer her away.

“My name is Vassago, by the way—” the chopping demon tried to add, but Rafferty whisked her away to his workstation, unable to even respond if she wanted to, which sh e didn’t.

Once there, Rafferty gestured to a prepared plate sitting there. “Do you approve?” he asked.

Helena blinked at the plate, trying to parse what she was seeing. A prepared quail sat in the prominent position on the plate beside a fluffy mound of whipped potatoes with something melted on top. By the smell of it gruyere. A second little mound of potatoes was smooshed next to it, and Helena realized it formed a tiny igloo on the plate. Next to that were little Parisian carrots all sliced up to their tops and pressed to make little fan-shapes, resting upright on a small pile of some sort of greens, like a little merry vegetable fire. Next to that were two little round mounds of herb butter with two tiny, tiny herb branches sticking out to make a snowman.

“It looks delicious,” Helena said tr uthfully.

Rafferty growled in his throat. “I know it does, but is it an acceptable presentation for you r event?”

Helena blinked at the plate, not really sure what she was supposed to be looking for, but she struggled for specific words. “It looks festive and on theme. Like a mini holiday dinner. Can I taste it?”

He handed her a fork. The first bite sent familiar happy shivers through her. “The meat is tender,” she started to say, then grabbed his hand and offered hi m a bite.

But instead of accepting it, he snapped his hand out of her grip. “I don’t need to taste it,” he said as he took a step away from her.

“What? What do you mean?” she asked, truly confused.

He seized a glass of the wine and presented it to her. “This is the wine pairing. Do you approve?”

Helena set the fork down as her throat tightened with needles. She just couldn’t eat anything anymore. If she did, she knew she wou ld choke.

“Rafferty, what is going on here? Who are all these people? And why are you acting so dif ferently?”

“You know what they are,” he said, poignantly only answering one of her questions. Angrily, he set down the wineglass she wouldn’t take. Picking up a knife, he slid a Parisian carrot in front of himself and sliced the round vegetable in quick motions so that it formed the fan-shape when he pressed it down. He set that one against the first carrot fan to make a more layered “f ire” look.

“Yes, but Rafferty…” She turned to throw her gaze across the room.

“You had two choices. If I couldn’t create the food from demon magic, then we needed hands to make it. And even then I’ve had to take so many shortcuts, it’s a wonder I have any fingers left.” She glanced down at his intact fingers and decided he meant that metap horically.

“But…” she said in a very small voice, glancing back at the demon prepping ingredients. He waved at her with his knife. “Even the one who … deceived you and dragged you to … there?”

“He knows how to cook,” Rafferty sai d simply.

She took it all in. A kitchen full of demons, coming at his summons to help fulfill her wish. This all seemed s o surreal.

“How much is this going to cost?” she ask ed softly.

It would have been better if his eyes had remained cold, but a wicked, bitter smirk crossed his face. He looked down on her with an aspect of triumph. “As Vassago said, it’s a little late to ask that now,” he said, nodding toward the chopp ing demon.

The needles in her throat stabbed deeper. If he had crushed her throat in his hand, it would have h urt less.

She took a step back from him, unable to keep the horror building. “I asked you for help…”

“And I gave it,” he said, pleasantly, taking a step after her. “I am giving you everything you asked for. Aren’t you pleased , m istress?”

She took another step back. “ Rafferty—”

His hand snapped out to grab her wrist, arresting her retreat. “I told you,” he said, in a low voice. “The temptation is always t oo great.”

She wrested herself from his grip and he le t her go.

“So I ask you again, mistress, does this meet with your approval?”

“Helena?” a voice cut in and they both turned to find Yosef standing beside Vassago, watching them. “Is everything alright?”

“I’ll be right there,” she said, looking back to Rafferty. “The meal is fine. I approve.” Then she escaped, moving to pull Yosef away from Vassago who had started talking to him. The last thing she needed now was for Yosef to get wise to the hell she hat h wrought.

“Is everything alright?” Yosef asked again as she pulled him out of th e kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s handled,” she said. “What’s the update on Scarlet?”

Yosef glanced back at the kitchen. “Okay, if you say so. Um…” He pressed his fingers to his temples like a mentalist trying to perform a trick. “She’s…” He shook his head. “She’s not fine, but … she’s got that doctor wrapped around her finger, and she’s convinced him to let her come for the speeches an d dinner.”

He had already told her that, but Helena didn’t point it out. Yosef seemed to be barely holding it together. Instead, she reluctantly nodded. “Well if it’s what s he wants—”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants ! What she needs is to be in the hospital right now and instead she’s killing herself … for this,” h e hissed.

A few eyes turned toward his frantic gestures, and Helena grabbed his waving hand, aware of how i t looked.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” she said, rubbing down the back of his hand in soothing strokes. “The last thing you need to do right now is panic because if we start panicking, they all will start panicking and thinking something is really wrong with Scarlet and that will be all anyone will talk about tonight. And then it will be all over the papers. That is the last thing we want, right?” She had to make him meet her eyes. “That would be the last thing s he wants.”

Helena felt him wanting to resist, but then he let out a breath and reset himself, flashing a reassuring smile at a pair of waiters setting out butters nearby. “You’re right. You’re right. There’s nothing we can do now. And it’s not like she’s going to start listening to me now, anyway.” He cleared his throat one more time. “Where are we with the valet s ituation?”

“Got it handled,” one of the office people reported, popping up beside them. “Helena, we have one lit tle snag…”

“That’s fine. I’m coming,” Helena said, swallowing back her feelings.

“This is going to really come together,” the office worker said, excitedly looking around as the lights shifted down to bring out the splendor of the hanging ligh ts above.

“Yes,” Helena agreed. “But it’s not over yet. What needs to be d one next?”